Ten Minutes
by TwiVersed
Summary: "Can you answer me one question?" he asks desperately, his fingers running through his hair again. "Did you ever love me?" The air that leaves my lungs surprises even me, and I almost want to laugh. "Of course I did," I answer. "That was the problem. I loved you too much to realize what you were doing to me." How many times can one disappoint before it's too many? *Controlling r/s.
1. Broken

**WARNING: May be triggering for some. Involves a controlling relationship. Read at your own risk.**

 **I am thinking of continuing this as a multiple-chapter story where each chapter can** **stand on its own, sort of drabble-y.**

* * *

I sit quietly in the brightly lit room, feeling the hard metal chair beneath me, the concrete floors beneath that. My eyes focus on a darkened stain. Blood? Rust? A combination of both?

How many prisoners have come through this very room, sat in the very chair across from me? How many family members, friends, loved ones, _enemies_ have sat in the very chair _I_ sat in, waiting impatiently, anxiously for the prisoner to arrive.

How many victims?

Not many, I had been told by my lawyer, which was why he was so against my visit today.

It had been a month since the trial. A month since my former lover had been sent to prison—a month since _I_ was the sole witness to the case that sent him here.

It wasn't as though he had denied any of it, though. He had gloated. Smiled. Fucking _smiled_ as he recounted the feeling of his fists soaring across Mike Newton's face. His bright green eyes, enigmatic and alive with the memory, had found mine as I sat in the back row of the court, hoping he would not have a chance to see me, to speak to me before I gave my testimony.

Of course, he had. He _always_ had been able to find me. No matter where I went, no matter who I was _with_ , he managed to find me.

This time it was Mike, my live-in boyfriend. Last time it was James, and then Eric, and then Laurent. The cycle is never ending. He wants me, and he is desperate to have me through any means necessary.

The sound of a metal door clicking open pulls me from my reverie, my body jolting into the present, my spine straightening the way Rosalie had told me to sit.

" _Confidence, Isabella,"_ she had said. _"Don't let him think you have any thoughts left for him."_

Easier said than done.

Especially when he shuffles into the room in a brightly colored, orange straight jacket. It looks better on him than it should. _He_ looks better than he should. My lawyer had convinced me that he would be getting what was coming to him in prison. He'd be beaten mercilessly by the other prisoners, controlling on the outside, but weak to the inside gangs and nobodies. Clearly, this was not the case.

He looks as though he is striving.

His green eyes pierce me as he holds out his arms, waiting for the guard to release the cuffs. I have half a mind to ask him to leave them on, but I don't want to give him that kind of power.

"Ten minutes," the guard barks, shoving him towards the small, metal table in the middle of the room.

My eyes follow the guard as he leaves as much space as he could, standing just beside the door. He becomes immobile, still as a statue and stares straight ahead. He must be used to this.

I ignore him for as long as I can as he pulls out the chair that suddenly looks too small for his tall stature, his long legs having to bend at the knee just so they wouldn't collide with the corner of the table. I study his arms, exposed beneath the turn up of the long sleeves. Even his forearms look different. Harder, smoother. It seems he has been working out—and he had already been in pristine shape.

Finally, he makes a small noise in the back of his throat. One of amusement. One of contentment.

"Couldn't stay away?" His voice is just as velvety as ever, just as pleasing to my ears, but my eyes snap to his in annoyance.

Staying away from _him_ is hardly the problem.

He has a five o'clock shadow forming across his jaw, chiseled as it had always been and I have a vivid memory of the way that stubble felt as it rubbed against my inner thighs.

His eyes, brilliant emerald, sparkle under the fluorescent lights, his mouth curves up at one end in that ridiculous crooked grin that I had fallen hard and quickly for when I was too stupid and naïve to understand what this man was capable of.

I watch his mouth as he speaks again, having no intention of carrying on with his delusions.

"You know I forgive you for speaking against me in court, right?" He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table as though he wants to invade as much of my personal space as he can. "I know you were trying to protect yourself and I would never be upset with that. I _want_ you to be safe. I _want_ you to be happy."

I lean back in my chair, flabbergasted. Out of all the things I thought he would have said, _this_ was not one of them.

" _Happy?_ " I hiss, feeling the telltale quivering of my bottom lip when I'm moments away from angry crying. But he wouldn't get tears from me—not anymore. "I _was_ happy, Edward, until you ruined it for me. Again."

He moves back too, his fingers spreading wide against the table. He studies the spaces in between his digits and I watch the shadow of his long eyelashes flicker across the tops of his cheekbones.

"Maybe in the short term," he mutters under his breath. I have to strain to hear. Suddenly, he glances up at me, his eyes captivating me as they had years ago. "But _he_ will never be able to fulfill all of your needs. Not _him_ , not the vet, not the librarian, not the mechanic. _None_ of them will ever be good enough for you. No one will ever be good enough for you."

I can't help it; I call his bluff. I know my therapist would have been shot red at my antagonizing, but I honestly cannot help myself.

"No one?" I question drily, staring across the table at him. His brow furrows for a split second before smoothing once more. "Not even you." It wasn't a question.

He smooths his hands across the table once before burying them against his lap and leaning into the table. He tilts his head, watching me from a different angle and I can feel the heat rising to my face. I hate more than _anything_ that I can still be affected by him like this.

"I never said I was deserving of you," he remarks.

The anger boils in my blood. I feel like I could spew fire from my fingertips if I really want to. I wish I could touch him so that I could slap him. I wonder if the guard would turn a blind eye.

"Then why do you fight so hard for me?" I spit, glaring over at him. "Why am I constantly having to warn potential boyfriends of you? Why do I have to deal with their brush offs of those warnings until you come back, trigger happy and ready to fight? Why have I had to sit in bed the next day, crying my eyes out as I apologize to this guy—Mike, James, Eric, whoever it may be?" I'm so angry, I don't even notice the tears dropping from my eyes until one rolls far enough down my cheek that it lands on my lip. I taste the drop, too watery to be salty. I think I've run out of salt in my body; I've cried rivers of it over the past few days.

Edward sits still through my rant. It's nothing he hasn't heard before, and the tears are nothing he hasn't seen before. The only difference now, though, is that he is hearing them and seeing them in prison instead of in the bedroom of my small apartment, or in the parking lot beside my car, or in the hallway of an academic building. He will find me; he always has.

But I have something to go on, now. Something to make the words I cry more accurate, more plausible.

He is in _prison_ for assaulting my boyfriend. Mike has pressed _charges_ on him. I can only hope he will heal with the time he is in here.

The guard by the door is becoming impatient. I can tell because he keeps glancing at the watch on his wrist, counting down the minutes. We must not have many left because I can see the handcuffs dangling from his belt, ready to be put to use.

Edward clears his throat and I can see the burn in his gaze. He's hurting as he always is. I _hurt_ him by moving on.

"Maybe," he says quietly, his eyes shifting between mine and I wipe the tears hastily, "there would be no apology if you came back to me."

My teeth click together in anger. "I gave you a second chance. I gave you _multiple_ chances, Edward."

He doesn't respond for a moment because he knows I'm right.

"You were too controlling," I continue. "I felt like I had to walk on eggshells with you. Your anger was…" I trail off with a shake of my head. I don't need to explain this to him again. And if I _do_ , then that's the problem right there.

I can already see the gears turning in his head, trying to come up with a way to keep me _here_ , to excuse his past behavior.

"I was never abusive towards you, physically or otherwise," he says at last, his shoulders slumping just slightly. "I know I had anger issues— _have_ ," he corrects when I scoff, "but I would never hurt you."

"It wasn't _me_ , Edward," I explain, my tone the same old tired quality. "It was everyone else you hurt. Any guy who spoke to me, any guy who _looked_ at me. It was…hell for me, carefully choosing every move I made so that I wouldn't put someone else in a compromising position with you. I had no friends by the end of our relationship. You were too possessive." I suck in a breath, knowing the truth hurts both of us. "You _killed_ me, Edward. You took everything from me until I had nothing left."

I watch his Adam's apple move up and down as he swallows heavily. Again, this is nothing he hasn't heard, but it seems like this time he's actually _listening_ to me. Usually, he's too wrapped up in his anger, his own pain, to really listen to what I am saying to him.

"But," he starts, and then backs off, raising a hand to run it through is bronze hair. It sticks up at all ends and it pains me to remember doing exactly the same with my own hand. He pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth and then releases it, dragging his teeth across the dark pink flesh.

I wait, patiently, impatiently, simultaneously wishing our ten minutes were up and that they were just starting.

Finally, he drops his hand and glances up at me, his eyes desperate. "I _loved_ you with everything that I was. Doesn't that count for anything at all, Bella?"

My stomach jumps at his nickname for me. I haven't heard that name in over a year.

"We were only sixteen. Did we even know what love was?" My answer and follow up question is rhetorical, but I know as soon as the words are out of my mouth that we did, and that was the problem. He loved too hard. It was his only fault.

His eyes flare, his lips flattening into a straight line. He's angry. It's his telltale signs and I wonder if I hadn't been able to read him so well, even when we were in high school, if I wouldn't have been the butt of some of his anger, too.

"I knew what love was, Bella," he hisses, "and I _still_ know what love is. There's only one person in this world that I love, and it's _you_ , and you can't tell me otherwise. Call it obsession, devotion, desperation, but what I felt for you when we were seventeen has only increased. No matter how long we are apart, I will always wait for you. You're the only one for me, no matter how many other guys you _fuck_ —"

I'm already standing before he even gets the last word out because I already knew where he was going with this.

The anger behind his spitfire eyes, his passionate words dies and turns to fear as his gazes follows me and he reaches out desperately, trying to hold on to me, to keep me in the room, to make me _listen_ , but the guard is already barking his orders. "No touching!"

I had almost forgotten about him for a few seconds, but he's making his way towards the table.

I take a breath and look over at the guard, nodding once. His hand releases the baton on his belt and he leans back against the wall, closer than before. He starts to pull out the handcuffs. I glance at the clock on the wall—we still have three minutes, but this is going nowhere.

Edward's breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he leans forward, his feet hooking around his chair.

" _Bella_ ," he's begging, his emerald eyes shimmering with what appears to be unshed tears. I fight the distress building up inside of me at the sight. "Please, I—I'm sorry. Just, wait. I won't…" he breaks off and he lets his gaze finish for him. I can see the realization behind his eyes that when I leave this room, it may be the last he sees of me for the rest of his five-year sentence. And he's panicking.

I hate that the feeling is almost mutual.

"Listen," I say instead of sitting back down, "the three years we had together were…astonishing. Amazing, but troubling. Anxiety-inducing, but life-giving at the same time. I don't know how else to explain it. I was so loyal to you for three years, and all I'm asking is for the same loyalty from you now. Loyalty to _let_ me be happy, to let me make my own decisions."

"Can you answer me one question?" he asks desperately, his fingers running through his hair again. He's pulling at straws, hoping to draw me in as he always could. Always can. I only shift my chin a little higher in answer, pulling the strap of my purse a little tighter over my shoulder.

He takes my silence as acquiescence, which it is, and puckers his lips just enough that they draw my gaze. He swallows again and licks his bottom lip.

"Did you ever love me?" he asks.

The air that leaves my lungs surprises even me, and I almost want to laugh.

I bite on the inside of my cheek, trying to keep the tears at bay. I hadn't planned on crying today, and here I was, about to break down for the second time. But that was what Edward did to me; he pulled everything from me. All the emotions I thought I had buried, all the memories I spent _months_ trying to forget. But how can I forget the way he touched me, kissed me, loved me when I compare every other man to him?

It's not fair to me or anyone else, and I need to work twice as hard now to forget him.

"Of course I did," I answer, and his eyes soften just a hint. "That was the problem—is the problem. I loved you too much to realize what you were doing to me."

I hope, as I push in the chair and move around the table with a large width that he caught onto the past tense verb.

I want him to forget me, too. I want him to move on. I want the past three years apart to disappear for him.

Despite everything, I want him to be happy.

So, when I hurry out of the door and into the dimly lit hallway, the sound of his pained groan is enough to buckle my knees. I hate that there's still a part of me, deep inside, that wants to comfort him. I hate that there's a part of me that is still in love with him, just as desperately as when we were sixteen.

Rosalie is waiting for me outside of the prison, her long blonde curls blowing gently in the wind as she leans against her red convertible. Her perfected eyebrows, arched high in wonder, dip and furrow as I near. I'm collected in her arms by the time my knees buckle for the second time, the tears free-falling like a broken dam.

And that's what I am.

Broken.


	2. Normal

**I do not own Twilight, or any of its characters.**

* * *

Returning to my mother's house is never exactly on my list of things to do, but Charlie is here and he is who I really want to see.

He has acted as a replacement father ever since my mother married him when I was seven. Even as Chief of Police, he had always been somewhat forgiving to live with, easier than my best friend from school, Alice, whose father was also on the police force. He was strict, temperamental.

Charlie was neither. He was easy to talk to. Easier than my mother.

I sit at the table, a sensation of being in that interrogation room coming back to me, and it has nothing to do with the officer sitting across from me, but the look on my mother's face as she watches me carefully.

"I told you it was a horrible idea, Isabella," my mother is chastising. It's what she does best. "That boy put you through hell, and you've crawled back to him like always."

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping at her. Charlie steps in before I have to.

"Renée," he says, placing his hand gently over hers, "I don't think that is what has happened here."

I glance over at them from my tea cup. Green tea. The tea I hate most, but my mother has probably never known that.

"Don't you dare defend that _boy_ , Charlie." The way she spits the word is like a knife piercing through thin air and I have to choose whether to let it slice me or to catch it by the blade. Either way, I'm cut. "I don't know why you've always been so accepting of him."

I sigh and sit back in my chair, not wanting to rehash this argument.

My mother never cared for Edward. She saw him as trouble, a kid from the wrong side of the tracks that had potential to bring her daughter down with him. Charlie saw the same, but having been a street officer on some of the infamous zip codes in Washington, he had a softer heart for the type. It wasn't as though Edward were from the streets or anything, he was just…trouble. A bad boy through and through. A beautiful, tormented soul; the kind that draws you in and traps you. So, when their straight-A, do-gooder daughter caught his eye…my mother was very wary.

Charlie places his hands in front of him like he is laying out his cards. "I'm not defending him, but I'm not outright saying he is a monster. He had a rough upbringing. You can't expect him to have a complete turnaround from that."

My mother's face is a deadly kind of serious as she gazes back at him, her slightly graying hair pulled into a harsh bun. "I can," she says severely, "when it comes to my daughter." She closes her eyes and draws in a breath. It's as though this situation has aged her. "Anyways," her eyes catch mine and I see myself in her, "you won't be visiting him again."

It should be a question, but it isn't.

I shake my head and chew on my bottom lip, trying to forget the sound he made when I left the room.

"And you'll be getting a restraining order as soon as he is released."

Again, it isn't a question and, really, it shouldn't be. But why does it feel like one?

Charlie doesn't say anything, only looks out the side window. I can tell by the set to his chin that he does not agree. Or, there is something he is holding back and honestly, I don't know if I want to know what it is.

"How do you feel, Isabella?" my mother asks after a few moments of silence.

I blink and glance back at my tea cup. "Fine," I answer.

"How is Michael?" she asks.

Guilt washes over me. I haven't seen him today. I came _here_ as soon as I left the prison, silently hoping that only Charlie would be here. My mother is always too full of questions, too full of concerns and she doesn't know how to keep them inside.

"He's still in a brace," I say, imagining the bright blue support wrapped around his wrist. "The bruises from his nose are healing."

"That's good," she says with a tightlipped smile. Charlie is watching the conversation as a passenger, not a partaker. "He's back at work?"

"Tomorrow," I answer and she sighs, a heavy, life altering sigh that drops her shoulders.

"Everything will be back to normal soon, baby," she says. I nod, but wonder what _normal_ even is at this point.

She pushes away from the table, straightening out her skirt. "I've made some scones, why don't you take some home with you."

And that's it. She is finished with this conversation and, just like always, when she is finished, everyone else is, too.

I gather my things, knowing I need to check on Mike regardless. He loves my mother's baking. He will be thrilled. Perhaps not about my whereabouts this morning, but with the conclusion…hopefully.

My mother hugs me quickly and draws her fingers over my hair hanging down my shoulders. "You should really get a trim, Isabella," she admonishes and then heads to the kitchen for the scones. She's back before I can even reply, box in hand.

"Raspberry and blueberry," she says and I take the dessert without a complaint. "Call me when you make it back to your apartment, dear."

She kisses me on the cheek and I'm walking through the front door, down the brick steps, staring at the crack in the step where I had fallen once. She is still upset about it, I am sure.

Charlie follows me to my car parked just in the street where I had left it this morning before Rosalie picked me up. It was easier than having her and Mike in the same room.

I turn after opening my door, my only plan a quick goodbye, but the careful look in his eye, the knowing frown to his face has my chest heaving, my stomach twisting and the tears I had so carefully dabbed away before leaving Rosalie's car are back.

I'm wrapped in Charlie's arms before I even have a chance to say anything, and he's soothing my hair back as he had done all those times before in high school, pre- and post-Edward.

"I know," he whispers as I fall apart in his arms, harder than I had with Rosalie, "I know."

The idea of finding my _normal_ breaks me.


	3. Bruises

**Thank you all so much for the reviews. It honestly means the world to me that there are people out there interested in what I am writing and I hope I don't disappoint.**

 **Here is a taste of the Edward you have all been waiting for.**

* * *

 _ **Summer before Senior Year:**_

 _It's one of those rare days in Washington._

 _The kind where the sun is in a crystal-clear sky, the heat is blistering, the water is warm and still._

 _La Push beach is alive with summer: Seniors basking in their last months of freedom, Juniors figuring out just what it will feel like to be on top._

 _It's our summer before Senior year and the tides have been slowly changing. Summer is drawing to a close and we're supposed to be laying out on the beach, drifting casually in the waves, shopping and eating ice cream._

 _So why, out of all things, am I standing at the top of the La Push cliffs, staring down into the one section of the Pacific Ocean within a ten-mile radius that was not calm as the sky?_

 _There's a general muttering of distress from the growing line behind me as I stand there, unmoving. It seems a lot further down from up here than when you're swimming in the water._

 _I start to move back, to let someone else go, because I'm not completely sure I can go through with this, when a pair of warm hands catch me around the hips, stopping me from turning. His lips are warm by my ear, his breath minty and laced with whatever the dark liquid in the crinkled water bottles had been._

 _"Don't be frightened," he's saying, but I can hardly concentrate on his words when he's pressed to me like this. I want to turn around and stare into his emerald eyes._

 _"Do you want to jump?" he asks quietly, and I can still hear the murmurings behind us._

 _I stare down in to the dark water again, swallowing heavily._

 _"How about if I go first," he compromises, skimming his lips over the shell of my ear and I bite my lip. "I'll wait for you just down there," he brushes his arm across my waist to point towards the water churning at the bottom. He wraps his arm around my waist now, bending into me. "I'll make sure you make it out safe," he whispers._

 _I turn in his arms and there's a few groans further in the line, but all I can see is Edward staring down at me, smiling his all-American grin, showing off his straight, white teeth. His beauty is blinding and there's a part of me that feels like I'm soaring when I look at him._

 _I take a breath and answer with a small nod. His grin widens and he turns me a few inches from the edge of the cliff. Before he moves to jump, his warm hand tangles into the hair at the back of my head, guiding my face to his. He kisses me quickly, swiftly, but it reaches me to my toes._

 _There's a boo from behind us and he chuckles, his breath blowing across my face, and then he's gone._

 _I watch as he jumps head first, sliding his arms out before him in a dive. I manage to look over the cliff just as he cuts through the water. It didn't take long for him to reach the ocean, but the amount of time he is under scares me._

 _Again, the moment he is gone, I'm back in my shell._

 _There's a huff from directly behind me and I hear a guy mutter, "Jump, or don't, but fucking pick something," but Edward's looking up at me, his bronzed hair darkened by the water, his green eyes glowing from the reflection of the sun and everyone behind me disappears._

 _He raises his hands in invitation. "Feet first, Bella!" he calls up to me. It's a warning and I plan to heed it, but someone from behind me has a different plan._

 _"Oh,_ fuck this _, man," is the last thing I hear before a warm, hard body brushes against me a little rougher than necessary. I lose my footing, slipping over the edge of the cliff._

 _I can pinpoint the moment the Edward goes from amused to horrified as I begin to free-fall, but it's not the fall or break of water that scares me. It's the blatant glare of red, raw anger that emanates off of him as he helps me surface, his hands reaching for me, checking me for signs of injury._

 _Physically, I am fine, but mentally I am a mess._

 _I try to stop him as he pulls us from the water, his jade eyes blazing with anger. I'm sure the boy who pushed me had no idea what he was doing—no idea who he was dealing with. Most of the boys on the cliff were from Forks Alternative; we didn't know the students from that side of the town, so they didn't know of Edward's reputation, specifically when it came to me._

 _My fingers grip tightly to his arm, but he pulls out of my grasp, ignoring my calling for him. Tears are falling from my eyes freely, pouring over my cheeks and I can see the slight hesitation in his own eyes before they slant back to cold fury._

 _"Go back with Alice, Bella," he orders and I can see Alice walking fast towards us, her small legs taking her quickly over the sand, her tanned face taut with anxiety._

 _There's no reasoning with him and I can already see some of his friends, who had chosen to stick to the beaches, jogging over to the bottom of the cliffs. They'll back him if he needs them to, but honestly, he won't._

 _He's never lost in a fight and I'm sure he won't lose today._

 _The next afternoon, we are back on the beach, but none of the boys from Forks Alternative are here today. He won't talk about it, or tell me who was involved. It's like it never even happened. Only the faint mark of bruising skin, dark around the corner of his jawline, and his scabbing knuckles are evidence of a fight._

 _Alice told me it was bad. She knows because her boyfriend, Jasper, watched. I want details, but I don't know if I can stomach them._

 _I reach out to touch the wounded skin gently, lost in thought, and he doesn't even flinch._

 _He's used to the bruises, and I'm beginning to get used to them, too._

 _He takes my hand from his jaw and presses his lips to my palm. It's his silent plea for me to forget, and I silently promise I will, though I know I won't._

 _His crooked smile is enough to melt away the rest of the day._


	4. Sedative

**I do not own Twilight, or its respective characters.**

 **So, I don't exactly have a** _ **set**_ **plan for this story yet. I have a general idea of where I want it to go, and generalized scenes I want to put in, but it's still kind of a mess in my mind and I'm hoping to make it a bit more concrete over the next few days. I do know that the chapters will randomly jump from present day, to the past, and, sorry, but not all of them will include Edward. They may not all include Bella, either. But, hey, drabble chapters make for quick updates!**

* * *

Mike is propped in the arm chair when I return to our apartment.

"Bella?" he calls, as though anyone else would have a key to our door.

"It's me," I answer, holding back a sigh. I know that I have to tell him, and I know that he will not be happy.

I take my time pulling off my shoes and run a hand through my hair. My mother is right, I do need a trim.

I round the half wall that separates the small kitchen from the even smaller living space. I moved in with Mike after the end of my third semester at school. It was cheaper, really, than continuing to pay the skyrocketing prices of the dormitories. Charlie was not pleased, but my mother was over the moon.

He's watching a game show on the flatscreen, mumbling something about "day time television" and how "there's never any good shit on." I almost break a smile.

"What's up, babe?" he greets me, reaching a hand out to grasp onto my skirt. He pulls me towards the chair and I eye his brace which is lying on the coffee table.

"Shouldn't you be wearing that?" I ask, motioning towards the blue cloth and metal contraption.

He glances towards it, and then back at me, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Nah," he says, grabbing for the bottle of beer in its holder. I don't mention that it's only noon on a Tuesday. "'sides, need to work out my wrist a bit, you know?" He makes an exaggerated motion of flicking his wrist and then pressing buttons on the remote on the armchair.

I laugh and he smiles up at me.

Mike is easy. He's always _been_ easy. He wants a laugh, a reaction, and that's about it.

"How was your class?" he asks after a few seconds and I sit carefully in the loveseat beside the armchair. It's now or never, and never is such a permanent thing.

But, before I start, I pull the box of scones from my bag. His eyebrows raise in interest, his hand already reaching out for the delivery.

"From my mom," I say, handing them over. "Blueberry, or something. She thought you'd like them."

" _Fuck_ , yes," he hisses, immediately pulling open the cover. He peers inside and his eyes light up like a child in a candy store. I wonder if it's wrong to butter him up like this, but then decide that every bribery helps. He is not going to like what I am about to tell him.

"Mike," I start, pulling his attention from the desserts before him. He looks at me, half interested in what I am about to say.

"I didn't go to class today."

Now he's all the way interested.

"Where were you all morning, then?" he asks, his brow furrowing. He glances down at the food before him. "Your mom's?"

I shake my head, already feeling the traitorous tears stinging and he _knows_. I can see it in the way his baby blue eyes sharpen just a hint, the way his jaw tightens against his collar. He lifts his head just a centimeter and I recognize the action. He's preparing.

"Don't tell me you went to visit _him_."

My stomach sinks, but his words don't surprise me. Honestly, it _was_ crazy to visit him in prison. If the roles were reversed, if Mike was visiting an ex who had assaulted _me_ , I would be just as angry.

"I…" I start, and settle on pulling in a deep breath through my nose. "I needed some closure, Mike. I just needed him to know how I felt before he…disappeared."

I can hear his teeth clicking together in agitation.

"And how do you feel?"

I bite my lip; it's an old habit of distress. "Like he ruined my life."

This seems to mellow him out, and he slumps a little in his chair. There's a little fluttering in my chest that tells me I may not be telling the complete truth. _Did_ he ruin my life? And if so, was it completely his fault?

"What did he say?"

I shrug, picking at the corner of the worn leather couch. It belonged to Mike's sister, and it's his prized possession. Honestly, I've always hated it. It's one of those kinds where your legs stick to it in the summer and in the winter, it's too cold to enjoy.

"Nothing too much," I say, because I'm not about to tell him that he asked whether I had ever loved him. And I sure as hell don't want to tell him the answer I gave, or the one that I buried away.

I chew on the skin beside my thumbnail. "He said he wants me to be happy."

Mike scoffs and then laughs as though the notion is incredibly absurd. A tinge of anger builds in me at his reaction, but I beat it away. I have to remind myself that _Mike_ is the victim here. Not me, not Edward. _Mike_ is the one who is hurting.

"That guy is a fucking _nutjob_ , Bells. He's clinically insane." He pauses for a moment, looking over at me with curiosity. "Honestly, is he on medication? Because he should probably look into that when his time is up."

I bite my tongue, holding back the retort on the roof of my mouth. I feel like Charlie, always wanting to defend him though there is little to defend.

"He never has been, no," I answer, despite the explanation I really want to give.

Mike makes a sound of sarcastic amusement in the back of his throat and shakes his head, taking a long sip of his beer. I stand up with all intentions of taking a shower and washing this day off of me. The morning took its toll on me emotionally and all of the excess crying I did afterwards, physically. My legs feel like jelly as I collect my bag, but before I am out of the room, Mike lets out a quick laugh and a last retort he must have just thought of.

"Maybe a sedative. Keep him under forever."

I focus on the rustling of the Tupperware container with the scones so that I don't hear my own pulse racing.

His words are exactly my fear.


	5. Defense

**I do not own Twilight or its respective characters.**

 **Thank you for all the reviews, I am still in shock that so many people are reading this and enjoying it. Short chapter, a bit filler-ish, but it's the weekend so I'll be writing up a few chapters and posting a few more.**

* * *

I can feel Rose's eyes on me even though the lecture is in full swing. Her baby blue irises are relentless, demanding my attention but, when I finally turn to glance at her, she merely raises an eyebrow in distaste. I haven't told her much about my visitation, and she is genuinely concerned and frustrated.

I stare forward, pretending the poetic nonsense written on the blackboard makes sense, though it seems like nothing but gibberish to my hectic mind. The professor drones on in the background and, before I know it, class is coming to an end.

I stand immediately, hoping to make a quick escape, but Rose is close behind.

I can smell the vanilla tinged shampoo she uses as she grasps my arm, spinning me to look at her once we are in the hallway.

"Why the _fuck_ have you been dodging my calls?" she asks.

I pull my arm from her grasp and say, "Mike's still out with his injuries. I've been helping…" but she's already shaking her head and looking around, moving to pull me into the empty classroom across from us.

She leans against the nearest desk, and crosses her arms, looking at me expectantly.

"It's only been two days," I start, but she is already shaking her head. Her sky-blue eyes glimmer with irritation.

"The last time I saw you, or _talked_ to you, I was dropping you off at your mom's house in a heap of emotion." Her fingers tap against her upper arm. "I tried calling to make sure you were okay. The least you could have done was text me."

I sigh and pull my fingers through my hair. I'd left this morning with it still wet and a few snarls snag painfully.

It's not that I was ignoring Rose on purpose, I just…didn't know what to say. What _is_ there to say?

"I'm fine," I settle on after a while, but the way she is looking at me, I know she doesn't believe me.

Finally, she sighs, halfway rolling her eyes and looking behind her towards the cracked door. She glances back at me and lets her arms slip from their hold. Her eyes soften and I know I've been forgiven.

"You're not planning on going back, are you?"

The question stuns me though I should have expected it, especially from someone like Rosalie. To her, the world is black and white. Yes or no. There's no in between, no halfway points, no uncertainties. I wish, beyond belief, that I could steal some of her strength. I need it now more than ever.

I bite my lip and shake my head, hoping to convince her enough to stray from this topic. It's not that I have plans to visit again, or have anything left to say or anything left I should _want_ to say, but Edward and I have always had this magnetic pull. Even miles apart, I can still feel the energy drawing me back.

It's one thing to feel it; it's another completely to act upon it.

" _Isabella,_ " she chastises and I can already feel the tears stinging.

Her voice softens as she says, "He's not good for you, Bells," and she sounds just like my mother. I bite the retort that she doesn't even _know him_ , that she doesn't know the entire story, but I know that would sound defensive, and he is not one to defend. Besides, defending him had been my entire _life_ throughout high school. Defending him to my mother, to Alice, to his own father, even.

I hate that defending him has become second nature but I hate even more that I'm desperate to hear someone else defend him, too.


	6. Victim

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Sorry, this is another non-Edward chapter, but these chapters are important in and of themselves to get different perspectives. At least, that is what I am going with. Besides, everyone loves a good Emmett.**

* * *

The phone feels like dead weight in my hand, heavy and nonexistent at the same time as I listen to the incessant ring tone. I don't even know if this is still his phone number, but I find myself hoping that it is, and that it isn't at the same time.

Finally, after the fourth ring, and just before I am about to hang up out of anxiety, his low but unusually sweet voice greets me. I freeze, not having heard this voice in over a year.

" _Hello?"_ he repeats, clearly knowing someone is on the other line.

I take a breath and before I lose my courage, answer with, "Emmett?"

The other line is silent for a few seconds, before the timid voice on the other line calls back, _"Bella?"_ and I bite my tongue against the automatic correction of the nickname.

"Yeah," I sigh. "It's me."

In this moment, I am regretting everything. Every decision that led me to this call, every emotion that had me running off to my apartment, knowing that Mike was not home, to speak to Emmett in private.

" _Bella, I…"_ he trails off, and I understand why. It's the same reason that I cannot come out and say why I have called. _"How are you?"_ he settles with, but I don't feel like making small talk.

"Okay," I answer quickly, staring at a cracked mug on the counter, unseeing.

" _That's good,"_ he whispers, and then clears his throat. _"How's…how is Mike's hand?"_

My teeth clench. "Healing."

I can almost hear Emmett nodding before he cuts to the chase. As he always had been able to, he knows exactly why I have called. Emmett has a way of seeing the underlying cause for every movement someone makes.

" _He told me,"_ he simply says, but it puts everything in perspective.

I collapse backwards a foot, and fall heavily into the chair that I am glad is there.

"I…I just felt like I needed to visit," I say, hoping he understands. I know they probably weren't too thrilled with my decision; they wanted Edward to _heal_ , and I hope I didn't set him back in that.

" _I know. We're…glad you did."_

I sit straighter, surprised by his words.

"Have you…?" I cannot finish the question, because I don't know what I am asking at this point. I don't know what I want; I don't know what I want Emmett to tell me because I don't know if I _want_ to know.

" _Does it make me a horrible brother if I've only accepted a call? Never visited?"_

I rub my hand across my forehead and let out a saddened laugh.

"No," I say. "It doesn't. He's lucky to have you as a brother, no matter what."

Emmett's quiet for a while before he says, _"I don't know if that's true,"_ and it breaks my heart, not only for Emmett, but for Edward as well. I have a feeling he is being purposefully careful with what he is telling me, but because I can't bury the need for more information on this family and the troubled son that I had been so heavily involved with, I dig.

"Does your mother know?"

" _No."_ There's no hesitation to his voice.

"Does he...want her to?"

" _No."_ Again, zero hesitation and then, _"I don't even know how to get in touch with her, anyways."_

A sob threatens to choke me into silence, but I swallow it back.

It's been two weeks since I'd seen him and I just need to know. I know I shouldn't _care_ and that I don't deserve to know, but there's something running down my spine, spreading to my limbs, my fingers, my toes, that threatens to paralyze me if I _don't_ know. "How is he?" I cave.

A heavy sigh is my answer.

" _I don't know if you want that answer, Bella,"_ is his eventual reply.

"Has he been fighting?" is my immediate question. It slips out without a forethought and I want to hit myself for the concern that laces through my tone. It's not easy to hide over the phone, even when Emmett can't see my emotionless expression, my sickly pale face.

" _Who?"_ he asks. _"Other inmates? No. Himself? Yes."_

I don't exactly know what that means, but the implication makes me sick.

" _You know how he is, Bella,"_ he adds before I can think too much about his previous words. _"He doesn't open up to anyone. He won't talk to his attorney, the counselor,_ us _."_ His voice breaks on the last word. _"You were the only one he ever—"_ he stops himself abruptly, knowing this is dangerous territory, but I know what he was going to say— _you were the only one he ever opened up to. You were the only one who could get through to him_ —and it makes me sick to my stomach knowing that he is right, that Edward only ever felt himselfwith _me_. Even Emmett, his older brother whom he was closer to than anyone else in his family, received the silent end of Edward's thoughts and troubles.

" _I'm sorry,"_ Emmett says in response to my silence. _"That wasn't fair of me."_

"No, no," I answer quickly with a sudden, dying need to get off of the phone, to get out of this conversation. "It's okay; you're right. He hardly ever opened up to anyone. But I can't…be that for him anymore, Emmett." It's my voice this time that breaks and I wipe hastily at the tears that gather at the corners of my eyes.

" _I know, and I think he's realizing that now, too. You should never_ have _been that for him. At least, not you on your own, and I think that's what he is struggling with._ He's _the one who fucked this up, Bella. No matter what, no matter how sorry for him you feel, remember that. I know he can be very…convincing, but just remember_ you _are the victim here, not him."_

I swallow heavily, shadowing myself in his words. It's the most he's spoken to me about mine and Edward's past relationship and hearing this from an outsider who was also an _insider_ gives me another perspective. Not the jealous, angry one of Mike; not the confused, concerned one of Rosalie; not the misunderstanding, disgusted one of my mother; not even the overly-understanding, passionate one of Charlie.

I had called Emmett for defense, for some sign that I'm _not_ crazy, and I don't know if I got that, but I hang up with him feeling…stuck. _You are the victim here, not him_ , he had said, but I can't help but think…

Aren't we all?


	7. Emerald

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Wow, short throw back?**

* * *

" _He's looking over here again."_

 _My head snaps up quickly, but this time I have enough willpower and smarts to not glance in the direction that Alice is peeking in. There's a smile tugging around the corners of her mouth and I want, so badly, to slap it off of her face._

" _Stop looking!" I hiss, and it only makes her smile more._

 _My face is beet red; I can feel it._

 _Thankfully, she looks away back towards the surface of the picnic bench where her French homework has been sprawled out, untouched for the past ten minutes._

" _All I'm saying is that he has looked over here a total of_ five _times in the past five minutes." She flips her mechanical pencil around between her index and middle finger. "If he doesn't have the guts to walk over here, you should go to him."_

 _I scoff, because that is the most_ insane _thing I have ever heard her say and, though I've only known her since July, she has said some pretty crazy things._

" _Isn't he with his friends?" I press, staring extra hard at my English essay. I've already perfected it, but it's the only thing that will keep me from looking over at him. I think if he caught me looking at him, I would die._

" _So what?" Alice goads, snapping her gum once and it's so like Alice. If this was Jasper, if he was standing in the parking lot after school, smiling and laughing with his friends, she'd have no hesitation whatsoever to go right over there and demand his attention._

 _I, however, am not Alice._

 _The essay is pulled out from beneath my fingers and Alice is dangling it in front of me, her eyebrows raised mischievously. "He's been flirting with you all summer—"_

" _I've only spoken to him three times and I just moved here two months ago," I interrupt, making a missed grab for my essay._

"— _and is clearly waiting for you to make the first move," she finishes as though I never spoke._

 _I reach for the essay again, but she only pulls it further from me._

" _He's probably_ staring _over here because we're two idiotic girls, sitting at the picnic benches, doing_ homework _on a September afternoon instead of going to the mall, or to the movies, or to the beach," I snap, finally grabbing hold of the essay. I cradle it to me like a lost child. Of course, I had a hard copy on my computer, but not with the red markings of review I had so cautiously written this morning._

" _Hey," Alice retorts, picking up her pencil again, "_ you're _the one who insisted that we finish our homework out here._ I _am all for hitting up the mall."_

 _I roll my eyes, because that is not what I was trying to say, but Alice is already glancing around at the emptying parking lot._

" _Hey!" she calls out suddenly, swiveling quickly to look at me. "Isn't that your step-dad, over by the flagpole?"_

 _Instinctively and curiously I lift my head, my eyes scanning towards the tall white pole at the far end of the parking lot. My eyes train for the police cruiser, but instead are met with brilliant green. The same green that has taken over all of my thoughts from the first week that I moved here with my mom._

 _He's leaning against the side of his friend's SUV, arms crossed, grin on his beautiful, chiseled face as he listens to something his friends are saying._

 _My heart flutters at the sight of him and, before I can look back at Alice and give her grief for lying to me about Charlie, he turns his head a fraction of an inch and his eyes meet mine._

 _I can practically see the emerald irises and the golden hues that swim close to his pupils from way over here._

 _The grin widens and then lifts higher on one side of his face, giving him those ridiculous, gorgeous dimples that starred in my dreams for nights on end._

 _I'm already pulled in, everything disappearing around and in front of me. There's nothing but me and him, and the hundreds of feet between us mean nothing. I can practically smell the lavender and soap scent that rolls off of him; can feel the overpowering flush that renders my body motionless._

 _He goes from grinning to biting down on his bottom lip as stares over at our table and I think, for a moment, that maybe he_ will _come over here._

" _See?" Alice whispers close to my ear. "I told you he was looking at you."_

 _I'm grinning back at him and then ducking my head before he can see my blush from a mile away._


	8. Candle

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **I really am trying to post at least a chapter a day and, with their short length, it hasn't been a problem…yet.**

 **This chapter is rated a mild M.**

* * *

My life feels as though it is passing in a blur, or like I am under water, staring up into the sky. I'm here, but not really, and I think Mike is beginning to catch on and that scares me.

"Do you want some of my shrimp?" Mike asks, leaning across the small table he has reserved at a nearby restaurant. Half of a sauce-coated shrimp is pierced on the end of his fork. I sit back a bit, an unnecessary feeling of annoyance rising through me.

"I'm allergic to shellfish, Mike," I say for what must be the hundredth time since we started dating.

Mike looks taken aback, as he always does.

"I didn't know that."

I grimace because he _does_ know this, he just tends to forget these little details, and go back to moving around the ravioli on my plate.

"Not hungry?" he asks after a few quiet moments and I glance up at him. He's watching me with his baby blue eyes, his blond hair slicked back against his head. The candle between us flares across his face and I have a random thought about the lighting in jail.

Is it this poor for him? Can he even read in the evening as I know he likes too?

I shut the thoughts out before they can overwhelm and put down my fork, forcing a smile.

"Not really," I say, but grab for a bread roll. Bread always makes me feel better.

Mike chews for a little while before grabbing for his beer.

"Listen," he starts, and I immediately tense up. "I know we had plans for a movie, but Josh got a hold of that basketball court off of Rayland. You know, the one with the new hoops?" His eyes are wide and excited and I can't help the slumping of my shoulders. "Would that be cool?"

I don't know if I'm more disappointed in the fact that he is changing our plans or the fact that I am a little more than okay with it.

"Yeah," I say, forcing another smile. This one is a bit less difficult to force.

Mike grins and takes a large sip of beer. "Wanna watch us? The guys won't mind."

I shake my head and wave my hand towards him. "No, have fun. I have some homework to catch up on anyways."

And, despite the fact that it's a Friday night and he had promised me this dinner and a movie two weeks ago, his grin widens and he says, "Thanks, babe. I owe you," before flagging down the waiter. "The check, please," he says, and his voice has increased in excitement.

An hour later, instead of starting the homework I had told him I had, I draw a hot bath and try not to fall asleep.

A few hours after that, Mike crawls into bed behind me, the increasing scent of beer and something else rolling off of him.

Marijuana, maybe. Mixed with cigarettes.

His lips are moving sloppily over the corner of my jaw, his hands rough as they grab at my hips, my stomach, my breasts. Normally, this would excite me. The idea of being _wanted_ so badly that he would grope at me, but now the touches make me sick to my stomach.

This is not _want_. This is the desperation of a man who is drunk and high. This is the unapologetic apology of a man who left me at a restaurant to shoot hoops with his friends.

This is Mike, and this is our relationship: food and sex.

And when he rolls me over onto my back and slides in between my legs, pressing his erection against me and then in me, his lips on mine, moving down my neck, there is only one thought in my mind and it's the same thought that is always in my mind when I am intimate with someone.

When Mike's legs move against mine, all I can feel is Edward. When his kisses turn sloppy and desperate, all I can taste is Edward. When he groans low in my ear, my name releasing in a slur from his mouth, all I can hear is Edward.

And when he comes, hard and fast inside of me, I shut my eyes tight, and all I can see is Edward.


	9. Gateway

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Thank you all so much for the reviews. I am honestly stunned that so many people are liking this out of place, out of order story and that so many people are finding it interesting enough to** _ **review!**_ **God, it makes my day, getting those notifications.**

* * *

 _ **Freshmen Year, College**_

 _Second semester of freshman year is infinitely harder than the first._

 _Sure, the first is coupled with moving into a dormitory, being away from home for the first_ real _time, and finding out how to live on your own, but the second semester…it's rough. Classes pick up; you start thinking of college as less of a get-away away from home and more as a gateway to the beginning of your adult life._

 _I had always wanted to go into English literature as a major, but here I am, in the beginning of second semester, weighing the pros and cons of a Psychology degree. Sure, I can always double major, but I am beginning to think…is literature enough? Will it give me a sturdy enough career? Something to rely on?_

 _My mother doesn't seem to think so._

 _She had refused to put any money into my college for anything less than a science degree, so the thought of her only daughter, her only_ child _, picking up an English major was unheard of._

 _She had tried to bribe me away from it; she had promised to pay half of my tuition if I chose Biology, or Chemistry, or even Physics, but I was hard-set on English. I_ loved _English literature; I was_ good _at literature. I was horrible in science courses, even worse in math. There was no way I would be able to keep up grades, or be happy, in such a field, but my mother insisted._

 _Which was why Charlie had reluctantly—reluctantly, because he had wanted to put money into my college no matter what major I chose—cosigned on a loan for me._

 _My mother wouldn't even do that, and she was irritated for_ weeks _at Charlie for "giving in."_

 _Charlie didn't see it that way. He lived by the "do what you like, like what you do," motto and was hellbent on allowing me to do just that, though he kept his actual support a secret from my mother. She is a hard woman to please. We all know that._

 _Especially Edward._

 _He is my rock when it comes to my mother, more so than Charlie. Where Charlie is apt to keep the peace, to agree with both parties and attempt civility, Edward has always, wholeheartedly, been on my side. Even when he thinks I am wrong._

 _I roll my hand deeper into the sleeve of Edward's baseball hoodie that I am wearing, the one that has_ CULLEN _stamped across the back in bold, block letters and press the cuff to my nose, inhaling his unique, water and lavender scent. Maybe it's natural, maybe it's his detergent, but it's always been_ him _, and I love it. When I wear it, I feel like he is_ here _, and not hundreds of miles away in Montana._

 _I have half a mind to call him, but I know what he will say: do what you think you should do; do whatever will make you happy._

 _I had listened to him last year, and applied for the English major at U-Dub and I, likewise, had talked him into the full-ride scholarship he had received at MSU for baseball. He had been hellbent on staying with me, but it was foolish. Why give up a full-ride to a school he had liked? Insane._

" _You know, Montana has a School of Journalism," he had said one morning, one eyebrow arched as though it would persuade me to cough up the thousands of dollars to attend an out-of-state school._

 _I had merely rolled my eyes and then kissed him to soften the blow when his face fell._

 _It was different for Edward and I. My mother could_ afford _to send me away. She just wouldn't unless it was under her terms. Edward could barely afford an in-state school besides the local community college; it's not like his father could sign on a loan for him. This full-ride scholarship meant the world to him and his possible future and I wasn't about to take that from him by begging him to stay in Washington with me and, despite his obvious disdain for our separation, I knew he would never beg me to go to Montana with him._

 _He_ talked _me into U-Dub. He_ talked _me into this English major, the major I had actually wanted, despite my mother's wishes._

 _But now, as I sit on my bed, staring at the Psychology & You! pamphlet my mother had given to me after visiting for the weekend, I'm beginning to wonder who I should have listened to._


	10. Sun

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Another short snippet into their past. I am hoping to spend a good portion of the day tomorrow writing up a bunch of small drabbles for this story, so fingers crossed, there may be more than one chapter a day!**

* * *

 _ **First semester, Junior year: high school**_

 _The room._

His _room._

 _It's where I've wanted to end up since that first morning I had met him; it's where all the girls at Forks High hope to end up._

 _He follows me in, hands tucked into his jean pockets as he watches me look around. I drop my bag and sit casually on the chair tucked into his desk. I look up at him, still standing by the doorway, and it's like he's expecting…something. Maybe a compliment, a complaint, a question._

 _But I have none, and so I lift my feet an inch off of the ground, spinning around slowly to get a full view of his bedroom. It's heavily decorated with classic rock posters, baseball and soccer trophies, vinyl records, license plates from nearly every state…_

 _It's so incredibly him and as I take in the surroundings, my eyes feeling larger than the moon, he relaxes._

 _He makes his way to the rather large bed in the middle of the room—too large for the actual size of his room—and sits down on the edge, watching me taking everything in. He pulls off the baseball cap that was sitting low over his eyes and runs a hand through is hair. That soft, shiny bronze hair._

 _His green eyes are bright and thoughtful._

" _What?" I eventually ask, a smile tugging at my lips._

 _He only shakes his head and leans forward so his elbows rest against his kneecaps. "You're the first person I've ever had in my room," he says._

 _I stop mid-turn, a flag hanging above the closet having caught my eye, and my gaze swivels back to him._

" _Girl," I correct, but again he shakes his head. The crooked grin I love so much returns._

"Person _," he emphasizes and before I can lift my feet that had slowly sunken back to the floor in my shock, he has a hold of the arms of the chair and is pulling me towards him. The wheels squeak to a fast stop, just between his legs and he bends forward even more._

 _Our faces are close, really close._

 _I can see a light yellowish color that rims his pupils, illuminating the emerald irises. No wonder his eyes shine in the sun; they are the sun._

 _He stares at me for a moment more, his eyes flickering between mine and my lips and I feel like I can't breathe. For once, I am speechless._

 _He gives the chair another tug and I am rolling into him, watching behind an invisible screen as he leans in and presses his lips to mine._

 _The taste of his mouth is something I will never get over. I am going to crave it,_ him _, for the rest of my life, I know, as I know every time he has kissed me._

 _He backs away just enough to whisper, "My dad's fucking crazy," before pressing his lips harder to mine. He slants his mouth and deepens the kiss as my fingers find their way up his arms, to his shoulders._

" _You don't have to meet him," he adds after another few seconds and I can hardly manage a response. Being like this with him puts all other thoughts, all other problems on the back burner. I can barely remember where we are, and why we are here, but the digging of his fingers into my thighs brings me back to reality._

" _I want to," I manage to get out without completely abandoning his lips._

 _I shiver as his large, warm hands run up my shoulders and rest on either side of my neck. He lets his tongue flush out along my bottom lip and I'm nearly moaning when he finally pulls away._

 _Because the chair is on wheels, I have no control over the movement when he pushes me back an inch, but there's a brilliant smile on his face when I glance at him._

 _The look in his eyes makes me think I have all the control in the world._


	11. Bullet

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Okay, two-parter because otherwise, the chapter would have been too long.**

* * *

The shrill ring of my cell phone wakes me up in the morning, before either of mine or Mike's alarms, and I reach blindly for the device.

Mike is groaning beside me, burying his face further into the pillows. It's Thursday: neither of us has class until noon. Being woken is really going to upset him.

Through blurry eyes, I make out the name on the caller I.D., half expecting to see Emmett for a strange reason, but I am disappointed when my mother's house number flashes across the screen. I tumble from bed and tiptoe out to the living space, closing the bedroom door quietly behind me.

"Mom, do you know how early it is?" I start on a harsh whisper, glaring at the clock over the stove that reads half past four, but she cuts me off before I can lay in.

" _Isabella?"_

The frantic tone to her voice has me in panic mode. "Yeah? What's wrong?"

" _Oh, Bella, honey,"_ her use of my old nickname and the slight hysteria to her voice makes me reach out for my shoes, _"it's Charlie."_

A blind panic takes over.

" _He's been hurt…I don't know what happened. The station called a few minutes ago, and then the hospital afterwards. I think he's been shot, Bella."_

My fingers are too numb to mess with the ankle boots sitting beside the door.

"Where?" I gasp, the tears already choking me from the inside out. My question holds two meanings, but I'm not sure which one I was going for.

" _He's at the Medical Center in Port Angeles. Can you make it there okay?"_

"Yeah," I practically yell, fumbling around the kitchen for my car keys. I always keep them in the bowl on the counter; why the _fuck_ are they not in the bowl on the counter?

" _Honey, drive save, don't rush, please,"_ are my mother's last words before she hangs up.

I'm a mess as I let my phone fall to the carpet, trying to see through the tears that are beginning to build up. I'm in a strange halfway world between silently numb and maniacally anxious and I think Mike sees that as he opens the bedroom door.

"Bells—" he starts, but changes his tune when he takes in the scene before him. "Babe, what happened?"

He's walking towards me, picking up the dropped phone on the way, and the single boot I hadn't managed to shove on my foot.

"My dad was shot," I answer quickly, still looking for my keys.

The ride will be three hours _at least_ , so if I leave _right_ _now_ I should be out of the University area before the morning commute really begins.

" _Shot?!_ "

My keys are hidden underneath a napkin and I scoop them quickly and bend to force my foot into the other shoe. I realize, as an afterthought, that I am still in my pajamas, but I could care less.

"On the job?!"

I'll just take a jacket, even though it's mid-spring. There's no time for a bra.

" _Isabella—"_

"WHAT?"I turn on Mike, an unnecessary anger coursing through my veins. This is not the time for questions, can't he see that? Mike's eyebrows raise, like he doesn't understand my tone of voice.

"Is he okay?"

I groan, my shoulders falling.

"I don't fucking _know_ , Michael. I need to get to Port Angeles."

The keys are taken from my hand before I have time to run out the door and I'm looking from my suddenly empty fingers up to Mike.

"I'll take you," he says, his voice softening and I'm shaking my head.

"Give me the keys; I have to go."

" _No_ ," Mike argues, his voice stern. "You can't drive like this, Bells. Come on, I'll take you."

And despite my desperate desire to drive myself, to give me something to occupy my mind for the long ride, I relent and storm out of the apartment. Mike takes an extra minute, probably to grab shoes, and I am wickedly impatient, already hurtling down the staircase.

In the car, I bite my nails and finger my hair and stare out of the window, trying to ignore the pit in the depths of my stomach and the growing traffic along the route.

Mike doesn't try to talk, for which I'm grateful, and an hour into the ride I'm also grateful he insisted on driving, because I can't stop crying.


	12. Artery

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Part two, but maybe…not the last of this mini-mini series?**

* * *

"Jesus, Renée, you could have at least called her back," Charlie is saying as I'm running into the room the receptionist downstairs had pointed me towards.

Mike is trailing in after me, letting my fear and anxiety carry me ahead of him.

Charlie is sitting up in the hospital bed, shaking his head with is arms crossed. My mother is sitting on the chair beside him, her eyes wide, her normally perfectly sculpted hair a haggard mess.

"I'm fine, hon," Charlie says and I feel like I am going to collapse. Mike must notice because he grabs onto my arm and steadies me.

"What happened?" I cry out, another onset of tears beginning to flow. This time out of relief. Relief that my step-father is sitting and speaking to me, and not lying on the bed with tubes flowing from his mouth, or worse.

"It was just a scratch," Charlie says in that huffed tone he uses when any of his dote over him. He has always thought he was too tough, too manly to be taken care of.

" _A scratch?!_ " my mother scoffs and moves to grab the white hospital blanket from his legs. He tries to stop her, but she's too fast and I look on in horror at the wad of ace bandages wrapped tightly around his lower thigh. I gasp and move to his bedside while he rolls his eyes.

"Just bein' dramatic," he grumbles under his breath, but I'm already looking around the room for signs of a blood transfer, or extreme painkillers, or maybe even the remains of a bullet lying in a souvenir tube somewhere.

"It _hit_ an _artery_."

Charlie rolls his eyes at my mother and purses his lips.

"I'm fine," he grumbles.

"What _happened_?" Mike asks, moving to stand beside me now so he, too, can look down at Charlie's injured leg.

Charlie sighs heavily and grabs the blanket roughly, covering himself once more. "Idiot new kid on the squad didn't cover me like he was supposed to." He glances up at the two of us. "Car chase gone wrong," he explains.

I take a deep breath and run a shaking hand over my forehead.

"It's nothin'. Don't worry," he says.

I shake my head because I know arguing with him won't do any good. He wasn't killed—miraculously—and he still has functioning of both legs, by which he pointed out by kicking the blanket lower over his feet.

"How long will you be out for?" I ask instead, because I know it's all he cares about. "How long is the recovery?"

"Two weeks until I can move to crutches, and then who knows how long after that." He's brushing off the crutches as though they are a simple, unnecessary device.

But my mother isn't about to let him get away with his nonchalance. "The surgeon said if the bullet was just another centimeter to the left, he would not have recovered at all."

Charlie waves off the statement with a flick of his wrist.

"And if Brandon hadn't worked so quickly to put pressure on the wound, he would have bled out," my mother adds.

I freeze at the mention of his on-again-off-again partner.

"Yeah," Charlie says, his eyes lighting up. "Let's move this party to Brandon's room. He'll appreciate this more than I am."

"Was he shot, too?" I ask, balking at the mere thought.

Charlie shakes his head. "Cut his hand pretty deep, though, trying to jump a fence. He's just down the hall. Matter of fact, I'll have the nurse show you the way."

He practically snarls when we refuse and remain with him, doting in the ways he hates most, but I'm just thankful he is, seemingly, okay.

A couple of hours later, Mike asks me if I want to get something to eat. He's starving, I can already tell by the tone to his voice. He hasn't eaten since last night when we ordered pizza for dinner. Apparently, seven slices weren't enough to hold him over until the afternoon, even.

Reluctantly, I agree, and Charlie tries to get my mother to come along, but she refuses, hushing him when he tells her they probably have flavored coffees.

"We'll be back in a few minutes," I promise, but it seems Charlie takes it as more of a warning and then Mike is pulling me through the door and out in the brightly lit hall.

It seems like such a different atmosphere, now. Running in, the blinding lights were an omen of death. Now, they seem more tranquil; life giving rather than draining. I remember, with a shot back into reality, the last time I had thought something like this. It was, ironically, the last time I was _in_ a hospital.

Mike leads me down the hall towards the elevator, beside which is a large blue board that outlines where the basics of the hospital are. Down a level is the cafeteria. I want to resist the elevator and pull him towards the stairs—who _knows_ what catastrophes we will run into if they need to wheel a bed to another floor—but he's already pressing the button.

"Man," he says as the large silver doors begin to pan open, "I'm starving." But I'm no longer looking because there's a shorter girl moving to exit the elevator who stops short when she realizes there are people waiting to get on. Her large brown eyes fall first on Mike, and then on me, an apology on the tip of her tongue, the forefront of her open mouth, before the words halt altogether. Her eyes stare daggers into me and, as always, I am a tad bit intimidated despite her size.

"Excuse us," Mike says and moves to pull me around her, having no idea of her existence or relation to me. I step around her with him as she slowly moves out of the elevator, swiveling shortly on her heel to glare at me again.

I stare, eyes wide and, just before the doors begin to close she laughs once, a short, dark sound.

" _Bitch_ ," she mutters under her breath, though loud enough that she knows I will hear and I stand, gawking at the closing doors and her turning body just between them.

Mike's chin moves back quickly in shock, his brow furrowing over his eyes.

"Did she just…?" he starts, but I shake my head quickly, more tears dispelling.

I've been a fountain of waterworks lately and it's honestly beginning to get to me. I don't think I've ever cried this much in my _life_.

"Do you _know_ that girl?" he asks, looking horrified, either for my behalf, or because the tears are flowing freely and seemingly for no reason.

I only bite my bottom lip and nod once.

"That," I say, my voice thick with emotion, "was Alice."


	13. Games

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **An early update, just for all of you :)**

 **This one is pretty short, and I am planning on updating again later today. It will be the last piece to this mini, drawn out four-part drabble, and then I'll be getting back to the past and jumping around in the future. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Alice, your ex-best friend from high school, Alice?!"

Mike's eyes are wider than _mine_ were as he turns to stare down at me, the lights from the elevator illuminating off of his blond hair.

I sigh and hold a hand over my eyes. This is the _last_ thing I need right now.

"Yes," I answer eventually.

"Why is she here?" he asks quickly, glancing up when the elevator dings, alarming us that we are on the first level. He steps out first, but the curiosity has not died down any.

"Her dad is Charlie's partner. Officer Brandon."

"The one who cut his hand?" he asks and I nod and then mentally slap myself. I hadn't even asked her how he was. But, then again, she never asked me how Charlie was, either.

"Why did she call you a bitch?" he probes, and I groan and shake my head.

"It's a long story," I offer as an answer, but really, I just don't want to talk about it. It has to do with Edward, like _everything_ in my life has to do with Edward, and I don't feel like dealing with Mike's touchy silence right now.

"Can we just eat?" I beg instead, and he seems to understand that Alice is a subject I'd rather stray from.

But, when he sees the full breakfast buffet set before him, I think he's forgotten all about Alice and Charlie, too.

I pay and then we sit as he stuffs his face and I pick at a bagel.

"Thanks," I say after a few seconds. "For driving me, I mean."

"Anytime, babe," he says happily and I hold back the retort. I know he is only in a good mood because he is eating. Like I have always known, sex and food is what we do best. We never do this deep emotional shit, mainly because I swore myself off of it. But he seems to be just fine without it, too.

"I'm glad your stepdad is okay," he says after a few minutes and I force a smile.

"Me, too."

"You think we'll be here long?"

I freeze at his question and then try to reevaluate. Finals are coming up. We both have a busy week and weekend ahead of us. My shoulders drop and I push my bagel away from me.

"No," I sigh and I know it's what Charlie would want, too, so I can't push myself to become too angry with Mike's quick resolve.

"I mean, we'll stay as long as you'd like," he continues. "I just have to call and let Josh and them know if I can't make it to the game later."

I tilt my head, staring up at him. He has some jelly on the corner of his mouth and for some reason, it annoys me.

"You have a hockey game today?" I could have sworn they were off for the next three days.

Mike shakes his head. "No, I was gonna shoot some hoops."

I'm glad I'm not holding the bagel anymore, because I'm sure it would have crumbled in my hands. I want to yell, or to hit him, or to cry, but really, I don't need any more problems right now.

Between Edward and Charlie and now Alice, fighting with Mike over his insolence is the furthest thing on my to-do list so I brush off the table of any crumbs and start to stand.

"Let me say bye, then," I say shortly, though Mike doesn't catch on. He never does.

He stands, grabbing his bottle of orange juice.

"'kay," he says and swings an arm around my shoulders.

It takes everything in me not to shrug him off.


	14. Assurance

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Sorry for the late (and short) chapter, but I did promise another update today and hopefully by the time this goes live, it will still be Friday. I have about five chapters typed out and ready to be posted, so I'll be uploading those tomorrow and Sunday.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Charlie is over the moon that we are leaving, but my mom seems confused and concerned. She _knows_ it's not like me to leave a hospital bedside for anything less than another emergency, but honestly, I'm too exhausted mentally and physically to explain.

With a quick nod to our upcoming finals, Charlie keeps my mother from questioning us and is all smiles when he waves us goodbye.

"Drive safe," he says. "And don't call every three hours to check up on me."

I roll my eyes and bend to kiss him on the temple.

"I'll text you, honey," my mom promises and after hugging first me, and then Mike, we are making our way out of the hospital and back towards the parking lot.

I put out my hand for the keys and Mike drops them into my palm. I'm desperate to get out before we have another run-in with Alice.

"So," Mike says as I'm merging onto the main highway back towards U-Dub, and I already know what he is going to say. "Is this a long enough ride back for the story?"

I grit my teeth and my hands tighten on the steering wheel.

"I guess," I conclude and then purse my lips, glancing over at him. He's watching me with piqued interest but reaches out to put his hand on my thigh.

"If you want to," he assures, but I can see the burning desire for knowledge behind his eyes.

"It has to do with Edward," I say quickly, before he gets his hopes up.

His eyes darken a shade and it seems like he is seeing something in the distance before he mutters, "Doesn't everything?" and I'm a little shaken by his reaction because I tried my _hardest_ to not make everything about Edward.

"Do you want to hear or not?" I snap and he takes a second to gather himself, looking slightly wounded by my tone of voice. Finally, he sighs and nods once, his hand moving from my leg to fist over his own.

"Yeah," he says. "I do."


	15. Constellation

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **So, I've decided to write the story of Alice and Bella in a flashback, because I think it will be the most interesting. This will be another multi-parter so that each chapter is not too long compared to the rest of the chapters.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **A/N: I know some of you were confused, but Alice is** _ **not**_ **Edward's brother. They are just classmates. Emmett is Edward's older brother.**

* * *

 _ **High school, Senior year, Spring**_

 _The party at Jacob Black's house has been in full swing for the past five hours._

 _Despite my initial reluctance to come, and Edward's passive-aggressive reasons for why I should come, I am having more fun than I thought I would be at a party thrown by one of the La Push guys. Tonight is the first time I have ever met Jacob Black, though Edward often speaks highly of him. Apparently, they've been friends since they were ten, when Jacob dared Edward to jump from the highest rock in the cove and Edward rose to the challenge._

 _I met Jacob earlier in the night outside of the garage of his small shack, standing beside a massive motorcycle that gave me anxiety when I thought of Edward ever riding such a contraption. He was tall and tan and nice, but that was about the furthest I had gotten with him before Edward steered me in a different direction, towards the actual party and away from the group of five, long-haired boys standing around various bikes, quads, and jet-skis. I think he didn't like the way a few of the younger ones were looking at me; apparently, boys and girls didn't tend to integrate down here._

 _Edward had stayed by my side, as promised, the entire night until half an hour ago when he joined a game of beer pong. Instead of playing or watching, I had sought out Alice, knowing she would be a bit more interesting to my quickly exhausting mind. My buzz had worn off an hour ago and is now replaced with a gnawing desire to go home, change into sweatpants, and curl up in my bed._

 _With Edward, of course._

 _But I can't find Alice and so I am doubling back into the kitchen-turned-game-room, my eyes scanning the seemingly hundreds of heads for the telltale mess of bronze locks. When I spot him, my stomach does a strange flip at the sight of his cheek-splitting grin. The dimples are on display, and I stand and watch for a moment, suddenly sobered by the sight._

 _I haven't seen him so happy, so relaxed in quite some time, what with the past couple of months._

 _He isn't even playing anymore, rather watching another tournament, so I feel less badly about sidling up beside him._

 _He does a double take when he sees me looking up at him, and his crooked grin is making an appearance, his emerald eyes even brighter than usual what with the alcohol running in his system._

" _Hi, baby," he says and leans down to press his lips to my cheek, which turns into running them to my ear, and down my throat. I am not drunk enough for this sort of public affection and I can already feel my face heating up as my eyes scan to see if anyone is watching._

" _Edward," I say, pulling back from him just a bit. His fingers tighten on my waist as though to remind me that he is there, as if I could ever forget._

" _Can we go soon?" I ask._

 _The smile slips from his face, his eyes glinting darkly and I sigh, pressing a hand to his chest._

" _Nothing happened," I assure him quickly, and his eyes soften a hint. "I'm just tired."_

 _He skims a thumb beneath my eye, nearly poking me in the eye in his drunken state, and nods his head. "Let me just tell Jake that we're heading out," he says._

" _Okay," I answer, but the word is muffled as he covers my mouth with his. The kiss is sloppy and tastes like rum and Edward, but he's smiling against my lips and I can't help but to giggle when he pulls back. He's still smiling, his hazy eyes nearly translucent._

" _I'll meet you at the car," he says over the blaring music around us. "I think you'll have to drive."_

 _I'm smiling and shaking my head knowingly because I always drive if we go out because I know he will drink too much. It's sort of an unspoken rule with us; one that I don't mind. I'm not into the alcohol, anyways. Especially with my stepdad being a police officer a town over._

 _I weave my way through the crowd, waving at a few people as a goodbye, and stand beside the old Challenger (it was my choice of car tonight; Edward and his father had just finished revamping the engine). I stare up at the night sky to pass the time._

 _By the time I hear the fight, I've already traced twenty different constellations._


	16. Key

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Here is part 2 of (I think) 4.**

 **Thank you for your interest in this story. It means the world to me.**

* * *

 _Alice is there, illuminated by the bonfire in the yard, her tiny hands wrapped around Jasper's upper arm, trying to coax him away from Edward and his growing temper, but I can see that there have already been fists thrown. Blood is dripping down the front of Jasper's face. It looks like he's been hit in the forehead._

 _Edward has a trickle of blood moving from his nose and I freeze up when I see it. I had thought most of this was over; I had thought we had moved past this, these seemingly unprovoked attacks. But that's just the thing with Edward: nothing is unprovoked. Even the shortest phrase is seen as a provocation by him, and everyone around him receives the blunt end of his anger. Everyone except me, and I'm beginning to wonder just why I am singled out._

 _Jasper says something and I watch as Edward takes another lunge for him, unintentionally knocking Alice to the ground. I hear her cry out and, as Jasper turns to make sure she is okay, Edward lands a fist to the side of his head._

" _NO!" I hear Alice scream, "Edward, fucking STOP!"_ _but words like that don't get through to him when he is in this red zone._

 _A few other guys are running from the back of the house and they try to grab onto Edward, but he slips away, running the back of his hand over his bleeding upper lip, his eyes bitter and pointed, intense on Jasper._

 _Jasper says something else, one hand held in a sort of surrendering movement, but all I hear is Edward's enraged voice calling out, "Fuck you!" before he's lunging once more._

 _My heart is racing so fast in my chest that I'm pretty sure if I take a step towards the scene, adding more stress and exertion, it will explode, but that doesn't stop Alice from spotting me from where she is on the grass._

" _Fucking_ do _something!" she yells at me, and she is angrier than I have ever seen her._

 _This is the part that I hate, out of everything. The fact that everyone seems to think I have some say in this. Like I can snap my fingers, and his anger will subside. Like anything I say to him right now will make him stop._

 _I move forward regardless, my legs feeling like jelly, and make eye contact with Edward. I don't know what has happened in the past five minutes since he left me inside, but whatever it is has taken its toll on him. It's pushed him past the breaking point._

 _His chin juts upwards an inch as he lets his eyes slide away from me, the muscle in his jaw ticking and for a moment I think that maybe I_ do _hold the key to his anger; perhaps I_ can _make him stop, but he only rears back and his fist flies into the nose of one of the guys holding him back._

 _The guy tumbles away, his friends moving after him, making sure he has nothing worse than a broken nose, I'm assuming, and Edward is unguarded._

 _I think he will make another move against Jasper, against the guy, against Alice, maybe, but he doesn't. He only spits out a bit of blood, wipes his bloodied hand against his bloodied nose again, and moves towards me._

" _Let's go," he hisses under his breath, his eyes not meeting mine as he walks past me._

 _I glance away from his retreating form, back to Alice who is still sitting in the grass, staring at me, stunned. Jasper is kneeling beside her and she lets him help her up, though her eyes are still on me. They're not concerned as they usually are in situations like this, nor pitying. They are stark-raven mad._

 _Edward turns back to see I'm not following, the wet leaves beneath his shoe making a sound as he pivots harshly against them._

"Bella _," he orders and, after an unspoken apology to Alice's infuriated face, I'm turning and following him._

 _At the car, he doesn't say a word, only opens the passenger door, sits heavily, and slams it shut behind him. I stand outside for a moment before getting in, quieter than he was, but equally as pissed._

 _I stare over at him, key in ignition, but he is still avoiding eye contact. The blood is beginning to dry beneath his nose and I can already see the beginning marks of a bruise by his chin. He reclines back in the seat as far as he can go without actually tilting the seat down, props his elbow against the cold window, and closes his eyes._

 _I scoff, shake my head, and turn the key._


	17. Apology

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Part three of the Alice/Bella story :)**

* * *

 _The ride home is completely silent and I'm honestly surprised there aren't tears pouring from my eyes, but I think I'm in too much shock for that reaction._

 _When I pull up against the road beside my house and cut the engine, I turn in my seat to stare over at him. He's already watching me, side-eyeing me as though hoping I would just let this one go._

 _Well, I'm not._

" _What the fuck was that," I demand._

 _He doesn't answer, only crosses his arms and stares out the windshield, but I'm not about to turn a blind eye to this one._

" _Did he say something to you?" I ask harshly, having almost zero belief that Jasper_ would _say something provoking to Edward. At least, not intentionally._

 _Again, he doesn't verbalize a response, only makes a sound of disbelief in the back of his throat and shakes his head._

 _I unbuckle and turn completely in the seat, pressing my back against my door so I can fully stare at him. I cross my arms, too. "I'm not leaving this car until you tell me what happened."_

 _The only sound is the click as his seat belt unbuckles and then he's opening his own door, stretching his way out of the car. I'm out of the car and running to catch up with his long strides in seconds, the anger bubbling inside of_ me _now._

" _This isn't fucking_ fair _to me, Edward," I'm yelling even as he opens the front door to my house with the key he knows is hidden in the small rock statue beside the railing._

 _Nobody is home tonight anyways and we always get him out before either of them gets back in the morning. For me, specifically, it's my mom. For him, specifically, it's Charlie because he "has a gun."_

 _He steps inside and closes the door behind me when I come in hot and angry. I'm about to yell something else at him, but he grabs my face and pushes me back against the door. He's kissing me angrily, passionately, his tongue shoving its way into my mouth and I can taste just the smallest hint of blood from his lip before he releases me._

" _I love you," he says, his eyes moving over my infuriated face. "Go upstairs to bed, and I will see you tomorrow, okay?" His voice is too calm for the anger that is still inside of me._

" _Where the fuck are you going?" I demand, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. He watches the action with a hint of pain and I almost tell him that I only did it to make sure none of his blood was on me, but I think to make him suffer just a bit._

 _He takes a breath._

" _Home," he says and all of the anger vanishes to be replaced with fear for him because I know if he turns up before his dad like this, he will look ten times worse tomorrow._

" _No—"_

 _He interrupts me by pressing his lips to mine quickly, softly and then resting his forehead against mine._

" _I know I fucked up, Bella," he whispers. "I'll go home and if you don't want to talk to me tomorrow, I will understand."_

 _I sigh and lift my chin a bit to kiss him back._

" _Shut up, Edward," I breath against his mouth and then pull away. I take his hand and silently lead him to the bathroom as I have countless times before. The rubbing alcohol, gauze, bandages, Neosporin are all where I left them last and, as I tend to the drying blood on his face, his bruised knuckles, his gaze saddens with each passing moment and I know he is sobering up._

 _His hands run up my bare thighs as he sits on the toilet and I stand in between his legs. The dress rides up just a hint and a warmth trickles down between my legs at the intimate touch, but I'm already shaking my head._

" _Not tonight, Edward," I whisper and he's looking up at me with those forlorn, lost eyes that glow greener than anything I've ever seen._

" _I know," he whispers back and then buries his face against my stomach._

 _We stay like that for what feels like hours and, when I finally am able to coax him to my bedroom, his eyes are rimmed with red and there's a small wet patch on the front of my dress. He's blinking back against the lights, or more tears, but whatever it is, my heart melts and grows for him._

 _It's not until the early hours of the morning when I'm half asleep that I hear the tears in his rough voice, the sadness and regret in the movement of his fingers as they brush over my hair, the tight grip he has wound around my stomach, keeping me as close to him as physically possible in my full-sized bed._

" _I'm sorry," he's whispering over and over again, thinking I am asleep. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."_

 _I don't have it in me in the morning to tell him that I heard his breaking point._


	18. Choice

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Last part in this mini-series. Finally, an interaction with Alice.**

* * *

 _All calls to Alice go to voicemail the following day and night, and I don't see her until I've pulled into the parking lot at school Monday morning._

 _As requested, Edward is already in the building. I had asked him to let me talk to her on my own, that I could handle myself. Really, I just didn't want to start another fight between him and Jasper, or him and Alice._

 _I catch a glimpse of her short, stylish black hair at her locker but as I approach, her eyes meet mine. She slams the locker, never breaking contact and then pivots on her heel, taking off down the hallway._

 _I let it slide, thinking maybe she'd like to talk more privately, but when I see her in class the next hour, she is not occupying the desk beside me like she usually does. She turns away when I enter, digging through her bag for most likely nothing._

 _I let her be._

 _At lunch, Jasper is missing, but Alice is sitting with Jessica Stanley who was also at the party and must have seen the fight, because she keeps glancing towards me as I stand in the line in the cafeteria._

 _Edward sidles up beside me and pays for my lunch before I can, despite my eye roll._

 _I let Alice be during lunch, though even Edward is quieter than usual. I think he can sense the tension between the two of us, and he knows he is partially to blame._

 _Finally, at the end of the day, I wait beside her locker because I know she has to come here to get the bright pink jacket she left here in the morning. She would never leave an article of clothing to fester in the locker space overnight._

 _When she sees me, it looks like she is half planning to turn and walk away, but instead squares her shoulders, and stands beside me. I watch her spin her lock before breaking the silence._

" _Alice," I start, but she whips her head around to glare at me._

" _You chose him over me," is all she says, but the anger and hurt in her voice lets on that there is more to it than that._

 _I bite my lip, feeling the tightening of my throat closing in._

" _Oh, fucking stop_ _with the water works, already," she hisses and slams her locker shut._

 _I'm hurt, but not as badly as she is._

" _Alice!" I start again, but she's halfway down the hallway._

" _Leave me alone, Bella," she demands, talking to the empty hallway before her. "Don't call me, don't text me, don't even look at me."_

 _I stand in horror until she rounds the corner and disappears out of sight. Then I sink to the ground, leaning against the lockers and bury my head against my knees. I think I am crying again, but I honestly can't tell the difference between sadness and emotional absence at this point._

 _Sometime later, I hear fast footsteps that falter and then a sigh and I know who it is just from the sound of the voice._

 _Edward._

 _He crouches before me, his fingers coming up to brush away some of my hair and I glance up into his black and blue right eye._

" _I saw her leave the building by herself, and I figured…" he trails off, not needing to finish the sentence to get his point across._

 _He leans into me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and tugs just hard enough that I fall against him. I don't release my hold of my knees, though, because I am still angry. Angry at him, at his anger, at the fact that I love him unconditionally and sometimes I wish it_ was _conditionally._

" _She hates me," I manage to croak after a few seconds. Lips brush against my temple._

" _She'll come around," he says, but all I want to ask is: will you?_


	19. Lies

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

It's been a week since we visited Charlie in the hospital; a week since I have told Mike about Alice; a week since I have last _seen_ Alice.

Mike has been relatively quite the past few days and I am not sure whether it has to do with his impending finals, his low-scoring hockey team, or the explanation I gave for the bizarre meetup in the elevator.

I am willing to bet it's a mix of all three.

It's late in the night and I am lying in bed, my back to Mike's chest when he sighs from behind me and nuzzles my hair gently. A small smile spreads to the corners of my lips; we have barely had any intimate contact since the trip and it had begun to worry me.

"Bella?" he whispers, as though checking to see if I am awake. We've only just turned out the lights; he should know it takes me more than a couple of seconds to fall asleep.

"Yeah?" I whisper back, and the stretch of time before he continues has my stomach knotting uncomfortably. I can already tell what this is about.

I want to turn over to look at him, but I can't make myself do it. I am too cowardly.

"What did…" He pauses, clearing his throat, "What did Jasper say to him?"

And it's so strange because since Edward and I had basically brushed the fight under the rug, and Alice had brushed our _friendship_ under the rug, the topic had never come up. It was as though we had all gone our separate ways.

Edward never told me what Jasper had said because, to him, the words didn't matter; they never do in Edward's case.

I turn at the waist just enough to glance over at him. His eyes are on me, his darker brows furrow slightly in what looks like a mix between anxiety and curiosity. He wants to know, but he is afraid to know at the same time.

It's funny that the feeling is mutual.

I close my eyes, sighing and rest my forehead against his. It's an odd angle, and I'm more so resting on his temple, but at the moment, it is comforting.

"Honestly?" I breath, not daring to open my eyes, "I don't know. I never asked, and Alice never told me."

"But _he_ ," he inflicts the term like its poison and I open my eyes, dropping my head back to the pillow; Edward and I had become so inseparable towards the end that any mark on him feels like a burn to me, "never said anything about it? Wasn't he friends with Jasper?"

I nod and let out a breath through my nose, really not wanting to hash this out right now, but knowing it's what I owe to Mike.

"Practically best friends before that," I answer and then contemplate that weekend a bit more. I chew on the inside of my cheek. "All he said was that Jasper was right, and that's what made him so angry."

"Right about what?" Mike presses and I can hear in his tone that he thinks I'm hiding something and I wish I was because then this past situation would no longer keep me up at night.

I shrug against the blankets and turn back around, feigning exhaustion so that, hopefully, this conversation ends faster than it started.

"I don't know," I yawn. "Maybe you should ask Alice."

I know he can hear the smile in my voice.

"Hell no," he laughs. "That girl seems crazy."

"She's not," I say immediately, defending her without a second thought. "I hurt her really badly. She should have called me worse names. She should have pushed me down the elevator chute."

Mike snickers behind me and I know all is well between us.

Simple.

He is simple; our entire relationship is simple.

His questions end and I'm halfway asleep by the time he speaks again, his finger drawing over the hair that has fallen beside my ear, his voice so low that I almost miss his question, "You'd tell me if you were still in love with him, right?"

I don't answer, my limbs freezing up beneath the blankets and I pray that he doesn't notice.

"Bella?" he tries again, his whisper even softer and then he sighs, assuming I've fallen asleep, and presses a kiss to the tip of my ear before falling deeper into the blankets.

I am wide awake now, more grateful than ever that he has forgotten it takes me a few minutes to fall asleep because I don't know what my answer to him would be.

I'm afraid it would be a lie.


	20. Remorse

**I do not own Twilight**

* * *

For some strange reason, I'm nervous to talk to Rosalie.

She's always known about Alice, known about our fight, but there's always been a part of me that has been desperate to know who she thinks is in the right. Of course, she has always made me believe it was _me_ , but that's because I am her best friend.

I watch her over my textbook, her eyes glued to the laptop screen in front of her. We're in a subdued portion of the library; I had requested it. She glances over at me and I look away quickly, but she catches my eye. She sighs and leans forward, pulling the book from me.

"Spill it," she orders.

For a moment I act as though I have no idea what she is talking about, but then I feel my body sinking into the chair. This is what I had asked her here for; I needed to speak with her, so there is no point in procrastinating now.

I let out a breath and fold my hands in front of me on the table. Her eyes, almost purple in the underground fluorescents, study me.

"Okay," I start and then stop because really I have no idea how to go about this.

Rose shakes out her blonde hair and leans forward, "So help me, Isabella, if you start shutting down on me…"

I'm already closing my eyes and shaking my head.

"It's about Alice," I warn. I feel like I always have a warning before talking about someone in my past.

She seems a bit surprised, but waves her hand towards me, "Go on."

"I saw her, when I went to visit Charlie. Well, she saw me."

"And?" _Cut to the chase_ , her expression tells me.

"And she called me a bitch and turned away, that was it."

"Did Mike hear?" she asks.

I nod.

"Did you tell him what had happened between the two of you?"

Again, I nod.

"I bet he was a douchebag about it, huh?"

I tuck my lower lip between my teeth. "Actually, he was okay. He didn't really say much afterwards."

I bite my tongue to keep myself from mentioning the question he had asked while I feigned sleep because I know in my heart of hearts that she _will_ demand an answer.

"You told him you and Edward had kinky makeup sex the day afterwards in the backseat of his car?"

I blush at her brazenness and Rosalie smirks.

"Didn't think so," she grins.

"Well why the fuck would I tell him that?" I hiss and she raises an eyebrow.

"I was just joking, Bells. Relax."

Relaxing is hard to do when my mind is in a constant battle with itself. I cross my arms, unappreciative.

"Sorry," she says and this time her voice conveys more contrition.

I take a deep breath and move my crossed arms to the desk, burying my head against the crook of my elbow and try not to think about that night in Edward's car. It burns the back of my mind with a mix of sorrow and lust. I don't think Rosalie understands.

"I don't know what to do," I whine. "I feel like I should try to talk to her, or something."

She was, after all, my best friend in high school—before the fight of course. And there's a small part of me that wants to find out what Jasper had said to Edward that night; ever since Mike had asked, I can't stop mulling over the possibilities.

Rosalie clicks her tongue, a telltale sign that what she is about to say may not be taken lightly.

"Sorry, girl, but it seems like you may have fucked that one up. I would say it's too late, but I don't know this Alice chick. Though it does seem like she stills holds a grudge." Rose presses a manicured nail to her lips in thought. "You could always try to come to some sort of truce with her."

I glance up over the barrier of my arms.

"I don't know," she continues at my tentative expression. "I mean, he's in jail, now. Maybe she'll have a little more remorse if you go to her crying about how she was right or something."

It hurts my stomach that she is probably right, that Alice would talk to me if I crawled back to her, diminishing Edward the entire way. But I think doing just that would hurt my stomach even more.

"Want me to go with you?" Rose offers after a few moments but I shake my head. It's a tempting thought, but I know it would do no good.

"I don't want her to think I've brought backup," I say because, knowing Alice, she would see it as a threat. "She'd kick us out before I even got a chance to shed a tear."

Rosalie shrugs and says, "suit yourself," before going back to her work.

I sit up again, not sure whether I got what I wanted out of this conversation, but I know one thing for sure: I have to speak to Alice.


	21. Afterlife

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Just a little something to hold you over while I write up the next few chapters. :)**

* * *

 _ **High school: Fall of Junior year**_

" _Do you remember your dad at all?"_

 _I glance over at Edward from where he is lying beside me in the bed of one of the trucks his dad had fixed up. The dark blue blanket beneath us is slightly scratchy, but I find myself caring less and less as the night goes on._

 _We're under the stars, staring into the night sky in the middle of a field that Edward had told me about in the middle of the week. He had asked me to come with him some night and I had whole-heartedly and, probably a little too enthusiastically (Alice told me to play it coy), agreed._

" _A little," I answer his question, staring at his profile. He is so unbelievably gorgeous. It almost hurts to look at him._

 _I turn back to stare at the sky before I do something stupid, like touch him._

" _I was pretty young when he died, so I think my memories are just things my mom has told me."_

 _I can see Edward nod out of the corner of my eye and then his head is turning and his brilliant green eyes are drilling a hole into the side of my face. I'm grateful for the dark atmosphere, because it means he can't see the blush that is slowly creeping up my cheeks._

 _He stares for a while as I busy myself with counting stars, and then he's looking straight up, too._

" _They always seem different," he says contemplatively, and I look over at him again._

" _The stars?"_

 _He shakes his head._

" _The memories. It's like, they were different people when we were younger. Or, maybe, we get older and wiser; we can see through the cracks. Their lives aren't so amazing to us anymore."_

 _I don't answer, mainly because I don't know what to say. By the time, he looks over at me, I'm biting down on my lip, my eyes roaming his features. It's too dark to see the exact shade of green his eyes are, but if the darting of his eyes from my lips back to my gaze is any giveaway, I'd say they were the color of a forest at dusk._

 _Now I'm thinking about kissing him, and that's not good because I don't even know if he_ likes _me like that, but I'm already in deep water because I definitely, without a doubt,_ do _like him like that._

" _You think your parents were different back then?" I ask, because I need to keep him talking._

 _His eyes flicker back to mine from lower on my face and I know Alice would be kicking me right now for not at least_ trying _to flirt._

 _There's some emotion that flits through his eyes when he answers, "Yeah. Time changes things, I guess."_

 _I can't pinpoint the emotion, but the tone is conclusive. I don't really know much about his parents besides the fact that his mother is a nurse and his father works out of a mechanic shop in their backyard. I've never been, but I've been told by Alice, who knows because of Jasper, that they have at least a dozen cars there._

 _Apparently, it's the place to go for a quick and cheap fixup._

 _I wonder how long it will take me to find something wrong with my car; to bring it in just to get a chance to see Edward._

" _Do you miss your dad?"_

 _His question surprises me, not because it is a strange question to ask of someone who has lost a family member, but because most people would stray from this topic. Of course, there's the normal and natural, "I'm sorry to hear that," but never anything further. I rather like it that way, because I honestly don't know how to answer his question._

" _Sorry," he says after a few seconds. "That's a stupid question."_

" _No," I say, shaking my head. "I'm just trying to think of a way to phrase it so it doesn't sound…horrible."_

 _The smile I receive as an award has my heart jumping into my throat._

" _Say whatever you feel and I'll try to piece it together," he suggests._

 _I take a breath._

" _Of course, I miss him, in ways. More so for my mom's sake, or my grandma and aunt's sake. Like I said, I don't really remember him, so I'm not…depressed with his loss. Yes, I'd like for my birth father to be alive, but I know that where he is, is where he is happiest, wherever that may be."_

 _Edward is nodding again and I'm studying the sky like it can give me the confusing answers I'm looking for._

" _Do you believe in heaven?" he asks suddenly, but less as an assurance that I_ do _believe, and more as plain curiosity in_ what _I believe._

 _I glance over at him, tracing the slight curl to his hair with my eyes._

" _I think there's something after this life," I answer. "Whether that be heaven and hell, or another life, or even just a blank room without sound or stimulation, it's hard to believe this is just…it." I pause and then look up towards the object of our discussion. "I'd like to believe there's something else."_

 _Edward hums quietly in response and I reciprocate, the curiosity getting the better of me. I think I am plain; black and white. Edward is like an enigma. I want to know everything about him._

" _What about you?"_

 _He looks over at me and I look back and we lay like that for a while, green and brown relating in the night._

" _I used to not believe in any of it," he answers after a while. "But now…I'm not so sure."_

 _He moves his arm until his fingers brush against my wrist, curling gently around the thin structure and it's the first time he's touched me purposefully like this; the first time he's caressed me and I can feel my pulse increasing, the blood in my body heating up at the feeling of his fingers, smooth and warm despite the chill to the air, brushing over my inner wrist._

" _Because," he continues, searching my eyes as his fingers search my lifeline, "how can there just be nothing for people like you?"_


	22. Allies

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Sorry I have been MIA lately. Work is a lot, and school is even more. I've written up a good amount of chapters for this and I'll be posting them a lot more regularly like I had been before.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

It's not until the weekend that I've planned on seeing Alice that I realize I don't even know where she lives.

I know that during our senior year, she had planned on going to New York for school, but I don't even know if that's where she is now, or if that's even where she ended up. I call Charlie, because he's the only one that would know. He's the only one left that gives me any sort of connection with Alice.

Emmett never really knew her too well, and I am certain Jasper would not want me to contact _him_.

I gasp in pain as I realize that I don't even know if _they're_ still together. Jasper and Alice had always been a package deal in school, but this is a new world. It was a new world the second Edward advanced on Jasper, the boy who has been his closest ally since elementary school.

I know that Edward and Jasper had not been in contact since the fight, right up until I ended things with Edward after my first year of college. And I'm almost positive Edward did not go out of his way to fix other relations after that.

" _Yeah, Bells, I'm fine. Haven't died yet, still on these Goddamn crutches,"_ is Charlie's greeting when he answers the phone and, despite the war going on in my stomach and mind, I manage a giggle.

"That's good, I'm glad," I say, "but I'm actually calling for a favor."

" _Oh, sure, Bells. Anything you need."_ The joy in his tone increases exceptionally and I am sure he is just glad that things are beginning to return to normal.

For him.

"Do you think you can ask officer Brandon where Alice is living?"

I wait with bated breath for Charlie's answer. I had a feeling he wouldn't take too kindly to this question. He and my mother (and, of course, Edward) had taken the brunt of my anger and depression the week after Alice had told me not to talk to her.

I still feel bad about it to this day; the fight had nothing to do with them, and yet I made it seem as though it was all their fault. It was just basic teenage hormones, I think.

Charlie clears his throat and then says, _"She's at home right now. Transferred back after her first semester."_

The news shock me, but I try to keep the conversation simple so Charlie doesn't begin to suspect anything. Or, really, so he doesn't think to mention any of this to mother because I know she will call me demanding just exactly what my plans are.

My mother adored Alice and I think she secretly agreed that I had put Edward above everyone else, which is probably true.

"Okay," I say into the line. "Well, I think I might try to talk to her this weekend. I'll stop by the house later on Saturday. Will you let mom know?"

" _Of course_ , _"_ he says and after we exchange goodbyes, I hang up and drop my head into my hands.

I may need a few shots of vodka before having _this_ conversation.


	23. Bus

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Quick flashback :)**

* * *

 _ **Junior year, high school: October**_

" _So?!"_

" _So, what?" I ask, squinting out down the road. I pray for the arrival of the school bus, just so Alice's questions will be cut short._

 _Alice scoffs from beside me and swings her waist around, both her hands gripping onto the strap of her oversized purse she uses instead of a backpack like normal high schoolers. But Alice isn't normal; I've realized this in the four months I've known her. We became fast friends, so I guess that says something about me, too._

 _Alice scoffs as though I have personally offended her._

" _Don't pretend I didn't see you and_ him _together at Mike's 'School's-a-Quarter-of-the-Way-Through-Let's-All-Get-Wasted Fest'!"_

 _I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything._

 _Alice stomps one foot, which is pretty childish for a sixteen-year-old in Junior year, but then again, she doesn't_ look _like a sixteen-year-old at all._

" _Bella_ Swan _," she pouts, as though my name in that tone is going to make me crack. And it does. A little._

 _She squeals when I tilt my eyebrows shyly._

" _What was it like?" she gushes, clasping her hands together in front of her. "I_ told _you he doesn't do PDA and there he was, pushing you into a corner at Mike's party, practically sucking your face off!" Her voice is shrill towards the end, her smile wide. "He must like you, like,_ like _-like you! I can't believe it! Little Edward has a crush on little Bella!"_

 _I bite my lip to keep from smiling, but I can already feel the blush dabbing along my cheeks._

" _It wasn't like_ that _," I start to defend myself, but she's still grinning from ear to ear. "All we did was kiss. It wasn't—"_

" _With tongue?" she interrupts and, instead of answering, I turn on my heel and stare back down the road into the bright sun. It's supposed to be a nice day. Alice has told me that days like this are rare, but the heat—_

 _Alice's squeal interrupts my procrastinating thoughts._

" _I knew it," she boasts. She doesn't say anything else, but her smirk is enough._

 _But now I can't stop thinking about that party and that corner and his hands and his warm breath and his mouth, hot and sweet and rum-infused as he backed me up against the wall that split the staircase from the dining room._

 _And about how firm and soft and warm his hands were as they slid just beneath the blouse I was wearing, cementing his touch to my waist._

 _And about how I was wondering how many times he had done this before since the brim of his baseball cap never once smashed against my forehead or eye._

 _And about how as soon as his lips were on mine, parting slightly to take my bottom lip into his mouth, all thoughts of other girls and other parties slipped away until there was just me, and him._

 _And then about how Alice had seen even though I had thought we were tucked away from the party far enough that nobody would._

 _I blink over at her and she's side-eyeing me with a hidden smile._

" _How did you see us?" I ask, and the smile lifts even higher, giving her dimples._

" _I was peeking around the corner to see what he was planning on doing with you," she giggles and then covers her mouth at my look of shock. "Jas pulled me away before I could see anything_ really _good, though." The fact she sounds disappointed doesn't surprise me._

" _So," she asks after a few seconds. "Did anything_ really _good happen?"_

 _I groan, but the yellow contraption with black lettering across the front is pulling up to our stop. Alice whines with disappointment and I shoot her a wry grin. The interrogation is over._

 _For now._


	24. Familiar

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **This one is extra long because it would have been a bit awkward to break it up. I'm sure you don't mind :)**

* * *

The couch I am sitting on is familiar.

So, familiar and so outdated that it's almost funny. Well, it _was_ funny and it _was_ something we used to laugh about when we were friends, because Alice's mom has always been one for antiques. Including a fifty-year-old couch that is swirled with lime green and bright pink, hoisted up with thick wooden arms and legs that make it almost as big as the room itself.

But Alice's face as she sits across from me, straight-backed in the recliner closest to the large window, is anything but humorous.

She looks pissed, actually. And more than a little hurt.

And not surprised. She knew I'd be here eventually.

Whether she wanted me here is another story.

"So," she starts and her eyes drift to mine, dark and large as they always were. "He's in jail and now you're trying to get your old life back?"

I open my mouth to contradict her words, but close it again when I realize she's right.

"Well," I clear my throat. Alice doesn't like soft-spoken. "Being away from him kind of made me realize how fucked up everything was."

Alice tilts her head to the side and raises an eyebrow, daring me to continue. I let out a breath and soothe back my hair. I'm on the edge of my seat, figuratively and literally.

"Like that I'm the factor in all of these equation. I'm the one who fucked up, left and right."

"Oh, cut the crap, Bella," Alice snaps and I bite the inside of my cheek. I think I can taste blood. "Stop blaming yourself and playing the victim at the same time."

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you fucking _are,_ Bella! You don't even realize it anymore!" Alice jumps to her feet now and leans over me and I'm surprised I haven't sunken straight through the couch yet. I'm trying to, though. Desperately.

"It's like, he made you think everyone was out to get you and that every interaction someone had with you was just to spite you, or something, and you believed it in your thick head!" She jabs a finger at her temple to illustrate her point, but now I'm moving forward too because what she is saying is just ridiculous. "Like he was the only one allowed to care for you or some shit and you just let him convince you of that!"

"That's not fucking _true_ ," I cry out, anger unleashing through my words, too. Alice steps back a foot and crosses her arms. "He never made me think that, and I never _thought_ that," I hiss.

Alice juts her chin out. It's something that she does when she is offended, but doesn't want anyone to think she _feels_ offended. I know her better than that, though, and whatever I just say…however she took it, offended her deeply.

"Then why," she starts in a low voice, "did you tell him that I told you we were only temporary friends?"

I freeze, my hands curled into fists against the couch, ready to propel myself up to fight her off if need be, but her question has my head spinning.

"W-what?"

She taps her finger repeatedly against her upper arm, clearly agitated.

"Why did _you_ tell _him_ that I said you and I were only going to be friends until the end of Senior year? You made him think I was some fake friend to you."

I'm at a loss for words because this is _not_ what I expected her to be upset about. I let out a puff of air and sag back against the couch.

" _That's_ what you're angry about?" I ask, bewildered and a little more hopeful now.

" _Yes_ , that's what I'm fucking angry about, Bella," she spits. "I don't like people—one who used to be my _best_ friend, no less—telling their boyfriends that I'm some horrible person who is using people for my benefit."

I throw my head back with a groan and then a small laugh bubbles from my throat. I can't help it; not because this situation is funny, but because it was so _avoidable_.

"What the _fuck_ , Bella?" Alice is fuming, but I shake a hand towards her.

"No, no," I say and then drop my head into my hands. "Fuck, Alice. That wasn't…true. I mean, you never actually said that to me."

"Yeah, no shit I never said that to you!" Alice barks, and I can see another flash of hurt pass through her eyes. "I thought we were actual friends, Bella. If you didn't want to be friends, you should have just said something instead of having your fucking _boyfriend_ come after me."

"No, I… _fuck_." I sigh and try to gather myself. I don't know how to explain this without Alice getting upset again. "Do you remember that list my mom made me write after Edward got suspended from school for breaking Tyler's jaw? The one with the pros and cons of dating Edward?"

Alice scoffs and rolls her eyes, dropping back to the seat behind her. "Yeah. But what the fuck, Bella. This isn't time for—"

"No," I interrupt, shaking my head. "He snuck into my room one night after I had written down a few more points in the con list—remember how my mom used to check?" Alice nods, albeit stiffly. "I was a complete and total mess because I was thinking, 'maybe I should break up with him. Maybe he _isn't_ good for me,' and I was crying and hyperventilating and," I shake my head, reliving the memory, "it wasn't pretty."

Alice actually cracks a tiny small that she hides away quickly, but I continue so she doesn't realize I saw it because I know she'll kick me out if she thinks _I_ think she is starting to come around.

"I was crying and red and blotchy and a _mess_ and I didn't want him to know about the list, obviously, because it would have thrown him off the deep end, but he was desperate to know what had happened, like, he was freaking out because he thought it was something _he_ did, and I just…" I take a much needed breath and hang my head in shame. "I knew whatever I told him had to be _bad_ because I wouldn't just cry like that for no reason, so I…"

I trail off, but Alice finishes for me, her voice hard.

"You told him I said something to you."

"You were the only other one who would have upset me that much," I gasp, already breaking out into tears now. "He wouldn't have believed anything else."

"But _why_ would you say I didn't want to be _friends_ anymore?" she wails, covering her face with her hands. She can't see my pathetic shrug.

"I don't know," I sniffle. "It's the first thing that came into my thick head."

That does it.

Using her insult towards me as an insult towards _myself_ makes that smile I saw trying to break through glimmer around the edges of her mouth.

That, and probably, my tears.

I wipe hastily with the back of my hand and she relaxes into her seat.

"I'm really sorry," I manage to mumble and then lean forward and drop my head into my hands. "I thought you were mad because I left with him without seeing if you were okay."

"Well," she says and her tone takes another ounce of irritation. "That, too. But I was fine."

"I wasn't trying to choose him over you, I just…you know how he is when…I didn't…" I try and fail to fill in words because there is no explanation for what I did back then or how I felt.

"I mean, were you even mad at him? Like, the two of you seemed fine that Monday. That's what pissed me off, too."

" _Yes_ , Alice," I gasp, staring up at her again. Her leg is crossed over the other and I realize she's wearing those bright purple heels she had bought when we went to Port Angeles together for the first time. "I didn't even talk to him the next day. I was so mad about _everything._ "

And that _is_ true. I hadn't spoken to him for nearly twenty-four hours. Half of that he let me be, but the other half was filled with him begging, on the verge of tears, telling me he was sorry. And, as Rosalie had reminded me, I _did_ eventually let him apologize in the backseat of his car when I finally agreed to talk to him the following Sunday.

He apologized over and over, many times with his tongue inside of me.

"Mad that he fought Jasper, mad that you were caught up in it, though I didn't know why until just _now_."

Alice's eyebrows shoot up an inch from her hairline. "You never even asked what the fight was about?"

I nod my head vigorously. "Of course, I did. He'd never tell me, though."

I look at her and there's a quick decision warring inside of my head because I don't know if, after all this time, I even _want_ to know what Jasper said, but Alice makes my decision for me.

"Well, he walked over to where we were with Jacob because I guess you guys were leaving?" She looks at me for accuracy and I give it to her.

"I wanted to leave," I answer.

"And he pretty much took one look at me and I guess the alcohol made him brave or something, because he just spit fire about how I am a terrible friend and shit and, well _you_ know," she says, raising an eyebrow at me condemningly.

"I'm sorry," I whisper and my nails dig into my palms.

She shakes her head as though it is old news.

"Jasper stuck up for me and told Edward that _I_ wasn't the shitty one in your life. Jasper told him that _he_ was ruining your life and then Edward just went crazy." Alice shrugs as though the explanation is far from satisfactory, but it is everything I've ever needed to know.

No wonder he would never tell me what had led to the fight.

I leave Alice's with a hug that lasts a long time, but is too short for all the hugs I've missed over the past year and make her promise to let me visit again next time I am in town. She laughs and, I think, reluctantly agrees, but I am desperate to repair our severed friendship.

I'm smiling by the time I'm in my car, but as I think longer and harder about the fight and what had actually spurred it, the tears are beginning to brim again. I'm glad the ride to my mom's house is twenty minutes because I need all the _seconds_ I can get to pull myself together because I know if she sees me like this, she'll think my meeting with Alice went horribly wrong.

And Charlie.

Charlie will be _so_ disappointed because all I can think about is how the only thing Edward had ever told me about that night was that Jasper was right.


	25. Cons

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Just a quick update :)**

* * *

 ** _High school: middle of senior year_**

 _The box of tissues sits beside me at the counter._

 _Surprisingly, I'm drying my tears out in the open this time instead of in the privacy of my bedroom. Charlie had made a quick getaway to work after making sure I was okay physically and then left the emotional burden to my mother which, really, I am not sure was a good move._

 _She is leaning against the counter on the opposite side, her brown eyes on my red, puffy ones before she pulls a piece of paper and pen from the drawer beneath her._

 _I watch as she writes two words in large letters at the top of the page and draws a line down the middle and then flips the paper so that it's facing me._

 _I stare at the paper and the two words, CONS and PROS, that pop out._

 _I glance back up at her and sniffle._

" _What is this?"_

 _She takes a breath and then presses her lips together._

" _Bella," she starts in that tone that makes me want to plug my ears and not listen to another word she is about to say, because I know that I won't like it. "I want you to make a list."_

" _What kind of list?" I ask, but the tears are already forming as I look at her, because I know exactly what kind of list this will be._

" _A pros and cons list," she says. "It will really help you sort things out. It'll help you determine what qualities you want, and which ones he is lacking."_

 _I push the page away from me harshly, though it only moves a couple inches._

" _I'm not writing a list of reasons to_ break up _with him," I snap._

" _Not pros and cons of breaking up," she says softly, turning the paper back with one finger so that it's facing me again. "Just pros and cons of Edward in general."_

 _I scoff and sit back, folding my arms. "That's so fucked up, mom."_

 _One eyebrow arches high into her brow and she purses her lips. She taps the CONS column with her index finger. "'Bad influence' can go right here," she states and I refrain from rolling my eyes at her. That, coupled with the swearing would be a quick cause for grounding._

 _But I take the paper and crumble it into a ball and let it bounce off of the table a few times. I push out from the counter and stand up._

" _It's fine," I snap. "I can make my own decisions."_

 _She doesn't say anything more as I round the staircase and run up to my room, my socked feet making too much noise and I'm surprised she hasn't called me back downstairs for stomping._

 _The list was a horrible idea, but why, four hours later in the middle of the night, am I sitting over my desk with a mechanical pencil aimed beneath a CONS column?_


	26. Drowning

The phone call I receive during the middle of lecture shocks me, and not just because I thought I had turned off the volume.

It shocks me because the name that turns up on my phone is not one that I recognize—or, more precisely, not one I would have saved to my contact list.

 _Securus-WA_ pops up and I know, from having a police officer as a stepfather that this is a direct line from the prison. Second to that, I know that if I answer the call, a voice will ask me to hold because an inmate is trying to connect. Third to _that_ , I know there is no way in hell I can answer this call because there is no way in hell I can handle what is going to come out of the other line.

I don't even let the call ring out because I don't know how the system works, so I swipe along the disconnect bar and fidget in my seat until the lecture is finished.

I'm practically hyperventilating as I leave the building and hole up beside a planted tree. My hands shake as I stare at the small screen of my cell phone and there's a widespread feeling of remorse, but also a tinge of relief.

Remorse, because I could have _heard_ him, I could have _spoken to him_ ; relief, because I would have and I shouldn't, nor should I _want_ to.

But then my mind is racing through the reasons for why he would have tried to call, for why he would have had this number memorized, for whether he would have thought I would have answered.

And then, the thought so _normal_ , so _basic_ to me: what if he had needed me?

And, so what? I was no longer his, and he was no longer mine. He didn't _get_ to _need me_ , and I didn't _get_ to feel bad if he _did_.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

It's another theory entirely as I dial Emmett, my pulse feeling like a freight train throughout my body.

He answers on the second ring, almost as though he was waiting for a call.

" _Bella,"_ he greets, and the tenure to my name makes me thinks he _knows_.

"I didn't answer, and I—" I break off, my shaky hand coming to cover my mouth because there are tears evident in my voice even though I hadn't even realized I was crying.

" _What?"_ It sounds like he is moving to a different place than he was when he had answered. _"What's wrong, Bella? What happened?"_

"I…" I blink rapidly, staring down at the bright pink flowers on the bush by my feet. The color seems off, like I can't understand the world correctly.

"I had a call from the jail," I try again. I swallow thickly. "I didn't answer. I don't know why," I _do_ know why, "and I thought you knew he called."

Emmett sighs and then doesn't make another sound and suddenly I'm remembering him as the eighteen-year-old kid, fresh out of high school. Unlike Edward, he's never had a care in the world. He took his dad in small strides, and his mom in even bigger ones. It was like nothing could ever phase him; but here, now, he's a man who's been through it all.

"I—I'm sorry," I say, because I don't know what else _to_ say. None of this is his fault; none of this should concern him.

" _No, I'm sorry. I told her not to do it. I told her to let me talk to you first."_

His words don't register with me, though I'm sure it's an easy explanation.

"Her?" I ask.

" _Beth,"_ he responds. _"The psychologist."_

The air leaves my lungs and I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach.

"Whose psychologist?" I ask, though I don't need to because it's obvious.

" _They're trying to help him, Bella. They really are."_ His voice doesn't sound as hopeful as his words.

There's another class hour starting and the pathway that I'm standing off of is no longer quiet and hidden. I block one ear and turn into the tree, trying to listen closer. I feel like my head is going to explode; the blood rushes through my ears in a frenzy, making it hard to hear.

"Wh…" I shake my head quickly, dispelling myself of the confusion. "Why did she call me? And why was she using a prison line?"

" _She has an office in the jail; her number probably correlated with that—but, Bella, I'm really sorry she called. I told her not to. I told her to let me talk to you first, but she thought it best coming from her…"_ he sighs again and I can picture him shaking his head, in complete disarray.

"But why would she call me?"

I know, in the back of my mind, that the answer is simple. She's calling because she wants me there, but I need to hear it. I need someone to say that to me, because otherwise I would never believe it.

" _She…she thinks it would be beneficial,"_ he lowered his voice on the word as though he didn't completely agree, _"for you to join in on a session."_

The words are there, but I'm still grasping for meaning.

"Do you go to the sessions?" I ask.

" _I have, to the last few."_

"How is it?" I don't ask out of curiosity, and I think Emmett knows that.

" _It's…rough. He hardly says anything."_

The pulsing through my head has stopped and now I just feel empty; light. Like I could float away and no one would ever know.

I remember the last, and only time, Edward went through any kind of counseling. It was our senior year in high school, after his fight with Tyler. The guidance counselor had tried to get through to him, but he wouldn't speak, only clench his jaw and grit his teeth.

He's not good at that, speaking. He's not good at emoting.

I feel a sudden wave of protectiveness as I had that day, too, when I had barged into the room after listening from outside of the door. It had been a difficult month for Edward, but the counselor hadn't seemed to take that into consideration.

Edward had only spoken up when the counselor had turned the situation on _me_ , as though I had had something to do with it. As though I had had something to do with _any_ of the fights. And maybe I did.

That's what I am still trying to figure out.

I sigh and respond to Emmett with a soft, "Yeah, I'll go to a session," because there's a fluttering sensation in my stomach that tells me if I don't go, if I let Edward handle this on his own, he will drown underneath the weight of all he has done.


	27. Mantra

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Thank you all for reading! This will be a short two-parter (with Edward) before the actual visitation.**

 **Enjoy :)**

* * *

 _A few of Edward's teammates have pulled him from Tyler, and a couple of Tyler's friends have pulled him from Edward._

 _They stand, ten feet away from each other, panting, glaring, hurting and I notice, as I look quickly at Tyler, that his jaw seems to be hanging loose._

 _I feel like I'm going to lose my lunch and all over what? A stupid fucking_ comment _that Tyler had to make?_

 _Edward's not in worse shape, but Tyler definitely gave him a run for his money and I wring my hands nervously to keep myself from fawning over Edward and the reddening corner of his jaw, his bleeding nose, his split eyebrow. The blood runs over his cheek and I remember my mother telling my once that cuts on the face tend to look worse than they are, but right now, he looks bad._

 _And I can see from the way he's sheltering his right hand and wrist from Eric who has a grip on his right arm, that he's injured his fighting hand, too._

 _There's a fast, strange flash of relief in me._

 _If he has no fighting hand, he can't fight._

 _But Edward will find a way; he always does._

 _Half a dozen people are already backing away from the circle that had formed and I know what that means without ever having to take my eyes off of Edward: the principal._

 _He doesn't even speak a word as he juts a thumb over his shoulder, glancing first at Eric, Sam, and Jasper, and then at the couple holding Tyler. He turns and is disappearing back down the sidewalk, but I can see in the way that he is walking that he is mad._

 _Tyler's friends take him, in a wide berth, around Edward and the three and he's practically being dragged to O'Leary's office._

 _Eric and Sam are glancing at Edward, always waiting to take their cue. I've always, in the back of my mind, wondered if they really were that loyal to him, or if they stayed out of fear of being next. Right now, the looks on each of their faces tells me it's the latter._

 _But I never fear Edward. I fear_ for _him, but I don't fear_ him _._

 _I hurry over to them, because they still haven't moved and I know the consequences will be worse if Edward doesn't face up, and Jasper lets go, knowing that the worst is over. Eric and Sam hover and then, after I give them each a weak, watery smile, they let go of his arms._

 _Edward's looking at me, which is strange because he usually goes above and beyond to avoid eye contact with me after something like this, and his mouth and jaw are hard, but his eyes are softening and remorseful._

" _Come on," Jas says to the other two and they follow him, glancing back at us once, but I know nothing else will come out of this today._

 _It's just me and Edward, how it should be._

 _He takes a breath, like he wants to say something, but I just nod and blink at the tears that form in the corners of my eyes. With the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I wipe at the trickle of blood on his cheek, leaving behind a darkened stain and an even darker outlook._

 _He ducks his head and I'm pulling him into my arms the best that I can with our height differences._

" _I know," I whisper against his throat. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."_

 _His body sags a bit against mine and I put my hands on his shoulders to push him back just an inch. He looks down at me and his emerald eyes are blazing with every emotion possible and I wonder just how he keeps it all inside the times that he_ does _keep it inside. How hasn't he burst into a million pieces yet?_

 _I cup his face gently and pull him towards me, pressing my lips to his until he groans in pain, the sensitivity of his jaw getting the better of him._

 _He rests his forehead against mine, closing his eyes in defeat._

" _Okay," I repeat like a mantra. "Tell him what he said to you. It's going to be okay."_

 _His lips press once to my cheekbone and he pulls away because he knows he has to go and defend himself. It seems like he has to do that to everyone he comes in contact with._

" _I love you," I say, staring up at him as I fall into step with him. "Remember I love you."_

 _He doesn't speak, but the way he looks at me tells me everything._


	28. Reactions

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Second half of the last chapter. This takes place during their senior year, by the way.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _I watch the clock to the side of me, staring at the little hand as it counts down the seconds._

 _I don't know why I'm here, but there's a part of me that is glad I'm here because I don't trust Edward to be here for himself._

 _Patty, the guidance counselor, as she's told everyone to call her, sits across from us, watching us behind her thick, purple glasses. There's a purse on her painted lips; I can tell without even looking because it's the look everyone in the office gave us as we walked through._

 _I don't even know where Tyler went or what happened to him. Honestly, I hope he's writhing in pain somewhere._

 _Edward sits beside me, but he's slouched with his legs spread out. The perfect image of nonchalance, of indifference. The opposite image of me._

" _Bella."_

 _My name as the first thing that comes from Patty's mouth surprises me and my head whips around, my eyes finding hers. I wonder what she sees in mine; probably confusion._

" _Why do you think you are here?" she asks me and I know it's one of those rhetorical questions that she already has an answer to._

 _Out of the corner of my eye, I see Edward sit up a little higher, protective in his stance._

 _I only shrug and look down at my tangled fingers._

 _I hadn't planned on attending this meeting, but Patty requested my presence while Edward protested._

" _I told you," he says and I can tell he's gritting his teeth, "this has nothing to do with her."_

 _The guidance counselor flattens her hands against the desk and turns her sharp eyes to Edward. "On the contrary," she says, "I think this may have everything to do with her."_

 _Despite the typical truth behind her assumption, this fight actually_ didn't _have anything to do with me but I don't want to agree with Edward because I don't want him to think I'm abandoning him here._

" _Bella," Patty restates, turning to me again and I lick my lips out of anxiety. "Do you agree with Edward's tactics of resolution? Do you think he should turn to physical violence?"_

" _No, but—" I start, but Edward shakes his head at me, nearly imperceptible, but because Patty is trained in the art of psychology and fine-tuned observation, she notices._

" _She's allowed to say whatever she feels, Edward," she chastises and I can already tell she's forming a different opinion of our relationship; one that goes further than just overprotection. What she doesn't understand is that he stopped me for fear I'll say something to admonish his father. It's what he's always afraid of—getting his dad in trouble._

 _It's why he never lets me talk to Charlie about it._

 _Edward leans back in his chair again and stares at me, but I know I'm not going to say anything to call out his dad._

" _I think he was justified this time," I say._

" _And why is that?"_

 _It's my turn to stare at Edward this time because I know he hasn't told anyone what Tyler said and I know for a_ fact _Tyler would never willingly give up that information._

 _He turns his head, his chin tipped up in that overly defensive, overly arrogant way. His jade eyes meet mine and I can see the pleading quality to them. My brow furrows the longer he stares._

" _If you don't tell her, I will," I threaten and he lets out a breath before forcing his gaze from mine to Patty._

 _She waits with a patience I am surprised she can muster as he stares at the ground. Finally, he lifts his head, raking a hand through his copper hair. "He said I'm the reason my mom left," he says and the dull tone to his voice makes my eyes tear._

" _Did that upset you?" she asks._

" _Yes," he answers softly, honestly. I bite my lip to keep from crying but a tear slips out._

" _And it upset you, as well," Patty says, turning her gaze to me._

 _I only nod once._

" _Why did it upset you so much?" she asks._

" _Because it isn't true," I manage to say after swallowing back the lump in my throat. I can feel Edward's eyes on me and I know he's hurting because I am hurting._

" _You seem more upset than Edward," Patty muses and it's just that—a musing, a thought; but it's completely true. Edward's used to this kind of disappointment—I'm not._

 _I nod once again and Edward's hand slips under mine. I tangle our fingers tightly and watch Patty's eyes dart to the movement._

" _Do you ever think," she asks, "that perhaps his reactions are in response to_ your _reactions?"_

 _I feel like my world has slipped out from under me because of course I've wondered this before, but it's completely different to have someone else, a third-party bystander, point this out to you._

 _Edward's vehement in his answer that this fight,_ all _fights, have nothing to do with me, but we both know he's lying. We_ all _know he's lying. Most fights are about me; his need to defend and protect and preserve me gives him some strange need to contest anyone who seems to have an ulterior motive._

 _Edward's the first to stand, dismissing Patty's words out right. I follow as I always have._

 _In the parking lot, he pulls on his baseball cap, so low that I'm not even sure he can see from beneath the brim. His eyes are on the ground as we walk to his car, the corner of his jaw ticking in annoyance and fury. He doesn't say anything until we are in the car and I've buckled, turning to stare back at the brick building._

" _Bella," he says quietly and I look over at him out of sheer surprise that he doesn't sound as angry as he had appeared to be. Green eyes smolder with a hundred emotions, most of which ground grief with desolation and pleading and I can't help as the tears come streaming with an unchallenged force._

 _I don't even realize when he unclasps my seatbelt and pulls me against him._


	29. Interference

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **I am going to post these three chapters together because they were, originally, one very long chapter, but I cut it into three and you all deserve them together :)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

I am beyond grateful for Emmett's presence when I get to the prison, though I'm not so sure how he feels about my presence; or, more specifically, Mike's presence.

Mike was irritated when I told him of the phone call and of Emmett's request and had agreed to let me go on one condition: he came as well.

Emmett is eyeing him as we are shown into an inconspicuous room, the walls whiter than anything I've ever seen. It feels like the beginning to a horror story and, really, it may just as well be.

"Hey man," Emmett says, holding out his hand. "I'm—"

"Emmett," Mike finishes for him. "Yeah, I've heard." He doesn't sound upset, but he doesn't exactly sound enthused to be meeting Edward's older brother.

Their handshake is short, but I can feel the tension in the room. They're sizing each other up.

"Emmett, this is Mike, my boyfriend." My introduction is meaningless because neither seem to be listening.

Emmett's eyes move from Mike's, to mine. They soften and I realize just how desperate he was for my interaction in this meeting but I know how hard this will be. Mike won't be in the room with Edward, but just knowing Mike is _here_ , listening and watching, will put us all on edge, I'm sure.

"Thanks for doing this, Bella," Emmett says and I can see Mike burning a hole in the side of my head. I had denounced that nickname, to everyone except Edward's family, apparently. I know this is going to cause an argument on the ride home, so I pretend I don't notice his stare.

"Does he…?"

Emmett shakes his head. "Thought it would be better this way. That way he can't argue." He grins, knowing how Edward is, but just the thought of Edward _not_ wanting me here cuts away at the throbbing wounds.

"So, what is this for, exactly?" Mike asks, and I look up at him instead of Emmett as he answers. Really, Mike is an outstanding guy. Most would run for the hills in situations like this. He must really love me. "I mean, what's the goal?"

Emmett nods like he was waiting for the question. "We just want him to talk, that's basically it. And the only one that's able to get him to do that is…" he trails off, but we all know he's talking about me.

The painted-over metal door opens and a tall, slim, young blonde walks through quickly and I'm at once thankful for the intrusion. Her hair is in a bun, a painted smile to her lips.

"Hello," she says kindly, extending a manicured hand towards me. "You must be Bella. I'm Beth. I work with many of the inmates on correctional treatment plans."

I shake her hand, and her smiling eyes glide from me to Mike.

"This is Mike," I say. "My boyfriend."

Her eyes go from smiling to understanding to wary.

"It's very nice to meet you," she says, extending the same hand towards Mike. I take his other.

Her head tilts towards me and I can see a slight worry line forming across her forehead. "I understand the implications here," she says, and I'm already shaking my head, "but I'm not sure Edward is ready for this sort of…interference."

The word _interference_ is so foul in its context in relation to Mike's presence, but I realize that it is completely true. To Edward, Mike _is_ an interference; an interference to his past life, an interference to the life he had wanted, an interference to his future.

I squeeze Mike's hand as I reply, "He's only here for me. He's staying out here."

Beth nods and the soft smile is back. "This must be hard for you, Mike. Bella is extremely lucky to have someone like you by her side, but if you ever need to talk things through—a counselor, perhaps—I would be happy to introduce you to a few of our familial counselors."

Mike's nod is hard and I know he would never take her up on the offer. It feels like my blood has run cold because what the _fuck_ am I doing?

"Okay," Beth says, and claps her hands together once. "Shall we head on in?"

With as much strength as I can muster, I nod.


	30. Numb

**I do not own Twilight**

* * *

This new room is adjoining and Beth has clued us in on the fact that, with a simple button, a few correctional officers and Mike can watch the proceedings from the room we were in before. It's a one-way mirror, so we cannot see them.

I'm practically shaken to the core as I sit in the chair beside Emmett, opposite Beth. The chair reserved for Edward is closest to Emmett and turned in so the four of us are facing each other in a semi-circle.

"It makes for a less claustrophobic space, I believe," Beth says when she sees me eyeing the empty space beside me.

"Before we bring him in," Beth holds a legal pad steady on her crossed legs, "I'd like to go through a few things." Her eyes are explicitly on me so I'm sure Emmett has had this conversation before. I swallow and clasp my hands together, suddenly wishing I had worn more than the flimsy blouse I have on. The room is cold, and not in a low-temperature manner.

"First and foremost, this is an open space. Feel free to say whatever you'd like. The guards on the other side of the mirror cannot hear anything," at this I gasp because I know Mike will not like that information, and Beth quirks an eyebrow at me.

"Secondly," she continues, "Edward is still in the process of understanding his emotions and his volatile reactions. Don't expect him to be completely healed, or completely repentant for things he's done in his past. If he says something that upsets you, air it, but don't linger on pain that you've felt. This session is for _him_ ; it is not a segment for you to air your concerns with him." Her eyes are steady on me and I'm suddenly wondering what Edward has told her about me, because it seems she thinks I am in some sort of dominant position.

"I—" I start, but she continues.

"Don't be discouraged if he won't talk. Lord knows we've been trying." She smiles at Emmett and I glance over to see a tight-lipped smile on his face.

He looks over at me as he says to Beth, "I guarantee you, if Bella can't get him talking, nothing will."

The smile on Beth's face is forced. "Yes, well…" she trails off and clears her throat, standing abruptly. "I'll have them bring him in," she says and then is gone.

I turn to Emmett, my eyes wide and already brimming with tears. He can see the hesitation, the uncertainty in my gaze and shrugs.

"She thinks this is my fault," I say, and it's not a question.

Emmett lets out a lungful of air. "I think she just wants him to realize that you've moved on and he should, too."

The chill to the room turns into an outright freeze and I'm suddenly shaking in my seat.

"Em," I beg, leaning forward in my seat to stand, "I don't know if I can do this," but the metal door is opening and Beth is walking through, a real smile on her lips, a slight flush to her face and I'm suddenly anchored to my seat because I'm not about to let her think, for one second, any of this is my fault. I'm not going to let her poison his mind with ideas that _I'm_ bad for _him_.

She notes my posture and I sit back rigidly. Emmett never said a word, only his brow raised in surprise at my outburst, but he, too, sits back as Beth opens the door wider for the guard who has Edward in tow, hands cuffed in front of him.

The breath is knocked out of me when I see him for the first time in _months_ because he looks so different and so much the same. He's still just as stunning as the boy I left in Washington, just as enigmatically beautiful as the teenager I fell in love with; his bronze hair is growing out again, curling around his ears, his eyes are the shocking emerald I always remember.

But he's different.

His expression, the glaze of his eyes, the stone face.

He looks like he's lived a thousand, pain-filled years and has a thousand more to go.

He looks like I felt when I let him go and I instantly recognize the sensation.

Numb. He's completely and utterly numb.

I've seen snippets of this before—when his mom left, when his dad blamed him, when my mom told him he wasn't good enough for me. I've _seen_ it, but never lived it.

It's like he's given up.

The sob that rips through my constricted throat surprises even me, so it's no shock when Edward's eyes widen and his head lifts, glancing first at Emmett and then quickly at me. His eyes linger and there's a tiny spark of the boy I know in there, deep down. The one who fought head to toe for me; the one who loved me with every minuscule portion of his body.

Emmett's hand touches my shoulder soothingly and I bite down hard on my lip, trying to control myself because I know Mike's in the other room, watching me like a hawk.

Edward's eyes are also on me, but with a different perspective. He's staring at me like the light at the end of the tunnel he just realized he will never reach.

Suddenly the chill to the room is nonexistent.

I burn for him, and him alone.


	31. Change

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

"Come. Sit, Edward," Beth says softly, placing her hand against his back and I'm suddenly riddled with jealously that someone is allowed to touch him; that _she_ is allowed to touch him.

He doesn't move, his eyes still on me and I haven't moved my gaze either. I'm desperate to know the expression on my own face, because his feels shockingly familiar.

Beth gives him a small push and he finally stumbles forward a step, dropping into the chair that he must have occupied many times before, because he does so without moving his gaze from me.

I want to say something, anything, but I don't. I force my eyes from him and look at Emmett instead. He's like a beacon of hope, right now. The calm in the middle of the storm.

"Edward," Beth says gently and my gaze snaps to her at the way she says his name, like he's some lost lover. "Your brother thought it may be a good idea to bring Bella into a session. How do you feel about that?"

I can sense the moment his gaze moves away from me. It's like I can breathe again.

He doesn't respond, but I see him nod imperceptibly. My throat constricts even more because I can't help but to think I have turned him into this. Have I made him this way by leaving him?

"Is there anything you'd like to say?" Beth asks him and her voice is too soft, too caring and I know it's not something he responds to. He responds to three things: anger, tears, and sex.

Again, he doesn't answer, only leans forward in his chair, rests his elbows on his knees, and looks at me.

I squirm uncomfortably in my seat because he's looking at me like that light again and I can swear I see the corner of his mouth start to lift, but it falls quickly. He runs a hand through his hair and looks away.

"It's fine," Emmett says in response to Edward's lack of answer and I look at him, thankful that he seems to know what to do. He's probably been through this many times and I wonder if their dad ever joined him and then hope to hell he hasn't.

"Are you okay with Bella being here?" Beth asks, and Edward makes no show of responding. It reminds me of the guidance office in high school. He doesn't do well with authority figures; he doesn't do well with emoting.

"Would you rather her leave?" she asks simply. My muscles tense up until Edward shakes his head and his green eyes lift to meet mine. I let out a breath and feel my face relax; his does, too, in response.

Beth glances at me and then towards the mirror and I know what she is going to say before she says it and I am helpless to stop her.

"Bella has brought Mike with her."

I can see the moment everything within Edward seizes up. His teeth click together, his jaw and eyes tightening and any leeway we could have made is gone in an instant.

I look first at Beth and then at Emmett, who seems surprised that she brought up Mike at all.

"Would you like for Mike to come into the room?"

"No!" I answer quickly, and Edward's gaze snaps back to me. I can feel the hatred rolling off him, mixed with the ever-present sorrow, rolling through his irises like a dark green sea.

Beth's blue eyes turn on me now, slightly narrowed in a chiding way.

"It's important for Edward to understand the change in your relationship," she says to me. "It's important for him to realize that you brought Mike here, with you, for a reason."

I know what she is saying is right, in hindsight, but right now, all I can think about is the way Edward's brow is furrowing as he takes in Beth's words. Because why else would I have brought Mike here? _I am still with him_ , she wants Edward to realize. _I am still with him, and he is helping me get over you._

"He wanted to come with me," I say automatically and I'm more than grateful Mike can't hear me. "I didn't want him to come."

I stare at Edward as he takes in this new information, and I can see Beth is not liking what I am saying. She steeples her fingers against her lips.

"Bella," she admonishes and I suddenly feel like a child again, being scolded by my parents, "when you say things like that, you confuse Edward. He needs to know, for himself, that whatever this _thing_ ," she waves her hand in the space between Edward and I, "was between the two of you, it's over now. He cannot move on without that knowledge."

My breath catches in my throat and I stare over at Emmett, just for something to look at that isn't Edward's slowly dying soul. Emmett stares back and I can tell by the look on his face that he has no idea what to say, or what he thinks _I_ should say.

I feel like I'm drowning; like I'm freefalling off of those cliffs in La Push again. Like Edward's the one waiting at the bottom and the one pushing me off the top at the same time.

My stomach flips as I look back over at Edward, the pull too strong to ignore as is the look of pain etched on his unfathomably beautiful features. His eyes search my face for a moment and I'm shocked to see a watery glaze settle over his eyes. I know that if we were alone, he'd be crying.

I stand quickly, nearly toppling over my chair in the process and barely register the looks of surprise from Beth and Emmett because all I can see is Edward jolt forward when he sees I'm about to bolt; Edward's hand as it reaches out for me, just as he had that first time I visited him.

" _No_ ," he says, and his voice is thick with confusion and anguish, low with nonuse, and more beautiful than I could have remembered. The sound pierces my heart, but I'm already moving towards the door.

"I—I'm—Please, I just need a minute," I plead, grasping for the handle that I know won't open unless the guard outside lets me out.

The door opens and I'm back in the white room without a second glance, keeping my head in Mike's chest as I breath in his cologne. It's familiar, but not the scent—nor the chest—that I desperately want at the moment. I keep my head there so as not to see the commotion from the one-way mirror, but by the buzzing sound of another door opening, and the quick steps of two of the guards from the room I stand in, I know something is happening.

"Edward, relax," I hear Emmett demand just before the door swings close again, shutting me out from everyone and everything.


	32. Monday

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **I was absolutely blown away by the amount of reviews I received after my last post. You guys honestly make me want to write as much as I do. I love you all, so here is a little something to hold you over.**

* * *

 _ **Junior year, high school: October**_

 _The wind hammering against my window makes the dark tan blinds clash against the edge of the window pane, but the sound is but a whisper in the back of my mind as Edward's body warms mine despite the chill to the night air._

 _His lips move over mine like a whisper in the dark and I hold him to me, keeping his head, his face, his mouth against me. He wore his cap here, but I pushed it off to weave my fingers through his soft hair. I marveled at the show of the aptly named 'hat-hair' and how it looked amazingly sexy on Edward, as everything does._

 _His lips break from mine and he glances away from me for a moment to stare at my half open window._

" _I should have closed that," he murmurs, but I lift my head from my pillow and swallow his words and reciprocating groan._

" _But then you'd have to leave my bed," I whisper as a contradiction and I can feel him grinning against my mouth._

" _Touché," he says._

 _He's careful not to push me too far as he is every time he sneaks into my room after hours. And every time it turns into a heated make out session and, every time, I want more even if I don't exactly know what_ more _is._

 _Obviously, I know_ more _includes nakedness and touching and his mouth on me_ other places _and a part of his body (the one I can always feel pressing against me when we're like this. The one that terrified me the first time I felt it pressing against my thigh) inside of a part on_ my _body, but other than that, other than the basic facts of sex, I am clueless._

 _Clueless and skill-less._

 _I mean, Edward was my first_ real _kiss._

" _Stop thinking."_

 _I gasp as Edward presses his thumb a little harder into my waist, bringing me back to the present. He's smiling when I blink up at him and I blush._

" _I do that too much, huh?" I ask, embarrassed. If only he knew_ what _I was thinking about._

 _He lifts to press a kiss to either side of my mouth and then moves off of me, sitting on the edge of my bed and looking around the blankets. I look to the left of me and grin, grabbing his baseball cap and sitting up to place it on his head. He pulls it down to how he likes it; the brim sitting low over his eyes_

" _Thanks," he says with a smile and then leans forward to kiss me hard. I'm breathless when he pulls away, but not too breathless to straggle up my bed as he starts to stand._

" _Are you leaving?" I ask, the remorse evident in my tone and I kick myself for it. Edward's not one of those kinds of guys. He doesn't do the whole whiny girl, emotional outbursts, thing._

 _He's quiet and lowkey and hard to interpret when he's not sticking his tongue down your throat._

 _At least, that's what Alice tells me because some of her friends have hooked up with him before at parties and that's what_ they've _told_ her _._

 _But I see something else when he looks at me. Something simmering just under the surface of his jade eyes and I hope that it's not just something I'm imagining. I hope I don't just think that I'm different to him. I hope I'm not just another notch on his belt because I'm new and a girl._

 _But that's what it feels like when he bends over my bed to press his lips to my forehead._

" _It's late," he says. "You should sleep."_

 _It_ is _late, but it's also a Saturday night and we were quiet enough that my mom and Charlie wouldn't have heard a thing._

 _And I'm not tired; something that was probably obvious to him when he started to get up._

 _But he's eyeing me speculatively, like he can see something warring inside of me._

" _You okay?" he asks and I know, based on what Alice has coached me in over the past couple of months, that I shouldn't push the subject because guys don't like that, but I can't help the fidgeting of my fingers and then it looks stupid to just say, 'yeah,' because obviously, I'm not._

 _He doesn't wait for an answer, just sits on the edge of my bed and pulls my face back to him. His mouth molds to mine like we were made for each other and I kiss back with as much enthusiasm as I can muster._

 _He pulls back a centimeter, breathing harder, letting his bottom lip drag along mine and goosebumps shoot up my body, along with a warming sensation._

" _I…" I trail off and he licks his bottom lip, effectively touching mine in the process._

" _You can tell me anything," he says, but the look in his eyes tells me he might not want me to tell him certain things._

" _What are we?" I say out loud, louder than I should have and without giving it much thought and maybe that's good because if I had thought about it, I_ would _have said it was nothing._

" _I mean," I start to back track because he looks like the question shocked him just as much as it shocked me. His brow furrows for a moment before relaxing. "Is this…are we…?"_

 _I don't know what else to ask, so the pulling up of one side of his mouth and the soft kiss he presses to the corner of my mouth are very welcome._

" _Do we need labels?" he whispers against my lips before kissing me again._

 _This time, the brim of his hat hits the bridge of my nose and I pull back when he whispers, "Sorry," and I think my question actually_ did _throw him off because he's usually a lot smoother than that._

 _Maybe Alice was right. I shouldn't have pushed anything._

 _I kiss him one last time after he stands and I tell him he can leave out the front door if he wants instead of breaking a leg on the way down and he shoots me a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes._

 _He looks me over carefully when he opens the front door as slowly as he can muster and asks, "I'll see you Monday?" as though there's a possibility I'd skip school because of this._

 _I smile, my arms crossed against the thin shirt, the night air too chilly to be comforting and watching as he ducks his head and heads off down my front yard and down a block where he parked his car so my mom and Charlie would never see him._

 _I'm kind of a mess later that night when it's too late to be a mess and I should be sleeping. I'm not crying, but my mind is running a mile a minute with thoughts of whether this is a good idea. Whether Edward and I are a good idea._

 _Whether 'Edward and I' is even an idea at_ all _._

 _The first call from him, at two in the morning, I send straight to voicemail because I don't really want to hear him telling me that we should just go on like we don't know each other because obviously I want more than he does, and the second one I let ring until my voicemail picks up on its own._

 _He doesn't leave one, and I don't know if that makes me happy, or even more upset._

 _The first text he sends says, 'I'm sorry,' and it doesn't really surprise me because yeah, he probably_ is _sorry he ever started anything with me, but the second_ does _surprise me and makes me wonder what's going on in_ his _head._

' _I'm an idiot sometimes,' it reads and then, when I don't reply, 'Ok, a lot of the time.'_

 _I crack a smile which feels like it's going to crack my face when I get the fourth text._

' _And you are, without a doubt, the only girl I've ever felt things for.'_

 _I'm too in awe and excited over the message that I forget to reply and so he sends his final text which simply reads, 'I'll see you Monday.'_

 _I've never been more excited for a Monday in my life._


	33. Emotions

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Sorry for not updating; I've had a few graduations to attend this weekend, but I'm working through them :)**

* * *

Beth is waiting impatiently in the room while I take a tissue to my eyes. Mike and Emmett have retreated to the parking lot, doing god knows what, and I stand in the whitewashed room with another guard.

"I think, if you're up for it, it's best to continue the session with just the two of you," Beth says and for a wild second I think she means just Edward and I alone. My stomach twists at the thought, at the mere notion of having to face him by myself. "I'll guide you along as best as I can, but he's in a bit of a fragile state at the moment."

She doesn't have to say the state he is in is because of me.

The relief that pours through me at the knowledge that she still plans on staying in the room confuses me. Half an hour before, I would have been overjoyed with the idea of her sitting out; now, not so much. I realize she's like a buffer; a professional, knows-what-to-say buffer.

And I think we need a buffer.

I nod and then sigh. "Okay," I say and start for the door. Beth stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

Her blues eyes are fierce behind their lenses. I notice a curl of hair has fallen out of her perfectly placed bun. "I'm going to say this once, Bella, and I know you won't appreciate it, but…"

She lets her hand drop, probably because of the look of panic I'm giving her. I don't know what she is going to say, but I know it'll keep me up at night.

Her mouth turns down. "You really need to figure out what you want here. This back and forth is what confuses Edward, and that's not what he needs right now."

I'm frozen in place, my hand outstretched towards the doorknob.

"What back and forth?" I demand.

She looks at me like I'm dense.

"Telling him you didn't want your boyfriend to come today," she says. "You give him false hope."

I'm chewing a hole through the inside of my cheek because I don't know what to say.

"I didn't…I mean," I pause and think about what I've said to him; what she's said to me. I let out a breath. "I didn't mean in that way. I didn't want Mike to come because I didn't want them around each other."

Beth nods, but I can still see the uncertainty in her expression. "You and I might understand that, but he doesn't. He's a very emotional man, Bella."

I'm irrationally angry that she thinks this is news to me.

"Yes," I say and my words come out a little angrier than necessary. "I know all about his emotions. I've been surrounded by them for three years and trying to protect myself from them for another two."

"Have you moved on, Bella?" she asks directly, ignoring my retort. My heart races a little faster.

"He's the first boy I've ever loved," I say.

I'm not sure if it's an answer to her question.

And, if it is, I don't know which direction the answer took.


	34. Liar

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

"Sit wherever you'd like," Beth says when she opens the door.

I look at her strangely for a moment until I see the setup inside of the room where there was once a semi-circle of chairs.

Now, two chairs are side by side with a third before them at a ninety-degree angle. The fourth chair, the chair Edward is occupying, has been moved to the far side of the room and he's sitting with his hands cuffed, his leg bouncing up and down with anxiety, his fingers tugging at his bronze locks.

He glances up when the door opens and I see a momentary relaxation in his features.

I've come back for him.

Beth stands to the side and holds out an arm, motioning towards the other three chairs. My choice, she had said.

This feels more like the interrogation room I had first visited him in, and I don't like it.

"Does he need those?" I ask instead of sitting, because it's the first thing that pops into my head. I'm staring at his wrists as Beth answers.

"He knows that if he puts up a fight, restraints are returned."

I look at her in time to see her send Edward a knowing glance, but it's not authoritative or retributing. She looks like an adult scolding a child, trying to hide their amusement.

I sigh and sit down, purposefully choosing the seat furthest from him. There's a slight furrow to his brow that, if I hadn't known him so well, I would have missed the meaning to. He's wounded because the further I sit from him, the further I pull myself from him.

He's watching me with those forlorn emeralds that blaze with a hint of irritation and I cross my arms, turning my head to look at Beth instead. He's always been able to get me to say things with those eyes and I can't trust myself right now.

Beth smiles lightly at me. "Why don't you start by explaining why you didn't want Mike to come with you today?"

I pull at the hem of my shirt, looking down at my fingers. "I…didn't want Mike to feel threatened," I say.

"In what way?" she presses, but her voice is still soft. She's asking me to give him an answer.

"I didn't want him to think something was going to come out of this," I whisper and look back up at Beth. I refuse to meet Edward's eyes, though I can feel them burning a hole through my head.

"And what do _you_ think Mike thought was going to come out of these sessions?" Beth asks.

I shake my head because I don't want to say it, and it's stupid because I can already feel the tears burning the corners of my eyes.

I stare at the wall to the left of me, the furthest focal point from both Edward and Beth.

"Maybe that you were trying to fix your relationship with Edward?" Beth asks and I know she wants to me say yes. I know she wants me to confront the issue head on, but I can't, so I stay silent.

"Bella," she chastises and I turn a bleary gaze on her.

" _Yes_ ," I say, my throat thick with the tears I refuse to let fall.

"Yes, what?" she urges because she wants me to say it and I know I need to say it because it's what everyone involved deserves and needs. An actual answer from me, but I'm beginning to doubt I know the answer myself.

I cross my arms tight as though it's a defense against my own body, but I still refuse to look at Edward because I don't want to see the pain that I know is so clear on his face, but I can hear it in his increasingly heavy breathing.

"Mike's afraid I still want to be with Edward."

The silence in the room is deafening. It rattles around my skull like a pebble inside of an empty can.

Edward's breathing has stopped and I know he's holding his breath for Beth's next question.

"And do you?" she eventually asks.

The rattle has become a full storm and I feel weak with its power.

I look at Beth, because I can't look at Edward as I answer.

"No."

The reactions are simultaneous.

There's a small, victorious smile on Beth's face because she can finally begin a different phase with Edward, healing, perhaps, but her smile is contradicted by the release of the air Edward has held steady in his lungs.

It's a sound of relief, and both Beth and I turn to look at him, her expression confused, mine wary.

He's only looking at me, his emerald gaze piercing straight through me as though he can see and hear everything, inside and out. It's a semblance of the boy I fell in love with; of the boy that held the world in his palm for me.

His mouth softens, evens and parts and it's my turn to hold my breath.

"You've always been a terrible liar, Bella."


	35. Trust

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging on this one. This story is rated M for a reason ;)**

* * *

 _ **Summer before Senior Year**_

 _The waves in the water are moving at a soothing pace now that the tide is nearly in and the sun is starting to go down. It's only the second week of summer, but already it's turning into the best summer I've ever had._

 _There are few people left on the beach and even fewer in the water. Alice and Jasper left an hour ago; Jasper has dinner with his parents and Alice is joining them. A couple of guys from the baseball team had come by to see Edward and Jasper, but they've since gone as well._

 _The only people left is an old man who's been swimming laps out by the buoys for the past twenty minutes, a lady scouring the beached seaweed for anything valuable or exciting, a lady dozing in her beach chair, and a few underclassmen hanging out by the rocks. I think they've smuggled alcohol by the rambunctious laughter that sounds from a quarter mile away._

 _The night is peaceful, but my stomach is anything but._

 _Butterflies nest and awaken when I think about tonight._

 _My legs are wrapped lazily around Edward as we drift in the darkening water, the temperature warm with the setting sun. He keeps his legs moving gently under us, treading water to keep us afloat, his fingers soft in my hair. He smells like salt and sunscreen and every time he leans down to kiss me, I can smell the expensive aftershave my mom helped me pick out for his birthday._

 _His smell and his taste and the atmosphere of the quiet beach and even quieter water has me thinking of doing things we've never done before. Sure, we've done plenty and he's made me_ feel _plenty, but we haven't had sex and right now, I really, really want to._

 _But it's not just in the moment. I've been thinking about this for weeks now. Well, I've been thinking about it ever since I saw him for the first time last summer, but I've been_ really _thinking about it for the past few weeks._

 _Our kisses and gazes and touches linger the longer we're in the water and I think he knows something is up because he keeps looking at me suspiciously every time I wrap my legs tighter around him, or tighten my fingers in his hair to keep his mouth on mine, or push my chest further into his._

 _It's the little things, but he's always been good at picking up on the little things._

" _You okay?" he asks when I rest my head on his shoulder._

" _Uh-huh," I answer and lean closer to press my lips to his throat._

 _His arms tighten around me and I can feel his pulse quicken under my mouth._

" _You wanna get out?" he asks, but his voice is a little rougher than before, a little lower._

" _Uh-uh." I press my tongue flat against the skin under his ear._

 _He shivers and I giggle so he moves his hands further down to my rear and squeezes which leaves me gasping against his salty skin._

 _I can feel his grin against my cheek, but I can also feel his erection pressing against my stomach. I tighten my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, raising myself a bit to brush against him where I ache for him most._

 _We both let out a low groan, throaty and airy, but a groan none the less._

 _He's pushing me further away from him before I can repeat, his eyes bright with the reflecting sun staring into mine. The desire is there, the same desire I see day in and day out that barely ebbs when we do_ other _things and I'm sure my gaze is a reciprocal of his._

 _I press my mouth to his, wet and salty and soft._

" _My parents are out for the night," I whisper and then kiss him again before he can respond._

 _When I look at him again, the look in his eyes is needy and desperate, but coupled with a love so great that it makes everything in me swell and flutter._

" _We should get out," is all he says._

 _My heart is pounding and I'm sure he can hear it._

" _Will you stay the night?" I ask him, invite him._

 _His breathing is a little off, ragged and uneven. He skims his lips along my cheekbone and the pathway erupts with fire that slices down to my core._

" _Are you sure?" he asks quietly, but I can still hear the subdued hope in his voice. He's been patient with me, but I know he's slowly burning inside with each teasing touch and taste._

" _I've never been more sure of anything in my life," I say and it's the truth. I want Edward. I want everything he can give to me, and I want him to be my first._

 _He kisses me deeply, slowly, with a passion that promises tonight will be breathtaking and I answer him with my lips, my tongue, my teeth until he pulls away._

" _I love you," he whispers against my lips._

 _I smile and say, "I trust you," back to him because I know that's what he's really asking._

 _His eyes brighten and soften. He shifts me in the water so that he can press his face into my hair._

" _Has this been on your mind for a while?" he asks. "You've been distracted lately."_

 _Only all summer, I want to say. But instead, I say, "No," because the real answer sounds obsessive._

 _He pulls back a little and his eyes graze over my features. A grin lights up his face, making him even more beautiful than before._

" _Liar," he whispers into my ear._


	36. Nothing

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **I love posting stories with short chapters because it's so much easier to update sporadically.**

 **And, as promised, I will not leave you hanging after that last chapter. Patience is key in all things ;)**

 **Also, happy mother's day to all moms and guardians out there. We would be nowhere without you.**

* * *

I'm trying to keep hold of myself as I, for once, stare at Edward with the same intensity he's been watching me with. The light in his eyes is still there, as is the optimism, but it quickly turns to doubt as I say, "I'm not lying."

I try to make my face as even as possible.

I know I'm a terrible liar, but what's worse is I don't know my gives because any time I had ever asked Edward, he never told me. He'd only smirk and kiss away any questions.

The doubt that shrouds his face loosens and I know I'm losing.

"I love Mike," I say, and that stops him in his tracks.

By the look on his face, he can tell I'm not lying this time.

"You don't," he disagrees and I'm angry that he would even argue this.

"I've been with him for a year," I say, my voice flat. "I love him."

Edward's jaw clenches and his eyes harden.

"Time doesn't equate to love," he states, and he's right. I know he is, but that doesn't mean I _don't_ love Mike.

At a loss for words, I glance at Beth, hoping she'll help, but she seems in a state of shock. She shakes it off quickly when she catches my gaze.

"No," she says slowly, looking away from me to Edward. His eyes snap to hers, almost as though he had forgotten she was here. He slouches further in his seat, cuffed hands clasped before him. The picture of indifference, once more.

"You're right," she continues. "Time doesn't equate to love, but over time, one can fall in love, don't you agree?"

Edward doesn't answer, so she tries a different approach as I sit, arms crossed heatedly. She turns back to me.

"What are some of the qualities you love about Mike?"

I can practically hear Edward's teeth clench together and even I'm a bit uncomfortable with the question because, honestly, I don't know what to say.

"He's…" I start, and then clear my throat, uncrossing my arms. "He's sweet and caring. He watches out for me. He listens to me," sometimes. "And my mom likes him."

It's a low blow; I know because Edward flinches and for a second I want to take it back because I didn't mean it like that, but I leave it to hang in the air because, if Beth is correct in that making him move on will be better for him in the long run, I'm willing to hurt him to help him.

Beth smiles genuinely. "He seems like a very sweet young man," she says and I nod and try not to cry again because I know what I'm doing to him, what I'm putting him through, isn't fair.

"I do love him," I say directly to Beth this time because I need someone in the room to believe me because I know Edward doesn't.

She starts to say something, but Edward interrupts.

"I'd like to go back to my cell," he says. His voice is calm, but there's a hint of the carefully constructed anger there as well, the same anger that boiled to life the day he was arrested.

"We still have twenty minutes left of this session, Edward," Beth says, and again she's using that strange maternal tone to her voice.

"I don't want to listen to this," he states, and it's a conclusion.

"You have to listen to this, Edward," Beth says. "This is the closure that you need, is it not? You need to understand that Bella has moved on; that she is happy." She glances at me for direction.

I nod and look back at Edward, study the hard line to his jaw, the perfect curve to his mouth, the furrowed brow. He doesn't look at me and it's like our roles have reversed in a way.

"I'm happy," I say to him.

Finally, his eyes cut to me and the depth to his anguish disintegrates me. I feel like I'm slipping right through my chair; like there's no floor to catch me. I'm free falling into nothing.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asks, his voice small, velvet, darkly beautiful.

"Doing what?" I ask, but he only stares at me, his brow furrowing even more. A deep frown sets to his lips.

"Doing _what?_ " I repeat, because I know he's shutting down again.

I scoff and lean forward in my seat. "The last time I was here, you told me you wanted me to be happy. Is that not true?" I ask.

He doesn't say anything, and neither does Beth.

"There are conditions to my happiness, right?" I demand. "As long as it's with you, I can be happy."

He doesn't answer, but I can see a battle going on inside his mind and I'm suddenly exhausted. I lean back again and cover my eyes with my hand. All I want is to go home, take a hot bath, and go to sleep.

"I'm not doing the silent treat—" I start to say, but he cuts me off.

"Why are you acting like what we had was nothing?" he's demanding, his voice level but his words piercing.

My mouth goes dry because I don't know how to answer that. I can't lie and say that what we had _was_ nothing, because we both know how it was.

We were consumed by our emotions; consumed with love and need for each other that it was nearly destructive.

"Instead of harboring on what you _had_ , let's talk about what you have _now_ ," Beth says, trying to steer the conversation away from the direction it is clearly heading, but Edward's already on his feet.

I suck in a breath, out of fear, anger, guilt? I'm not sure, but I'm terrified of the response from the guard as he quickly enters the room, but he only grabs Edward's arm to keep him from doing anything stupid, though he's hardly doing anything at all other than standing in front of his chair, staring at the wall behind me.

I can feel his anger from where I sit; I can also feel the uncomfortable anguish. The torture, the pain leaking directly from his fissured heart. My own heart throbs in response and I try to keep my breathing even.

His eyes turn down to me for a second and I can see the tears forming, his eyes misted with his torment.

"What we had was _everything_ , Bella," he says quietly, "and it still is no matter how much you try to lie to yourself."

He looks away from me in a way that makes it seem like he can't even bear to be around me, and nods to the guard. It's a single movement, hard and certain. The guard takes him by the upper arm and escorts him through a different metal door.

The door doesn't even shut all the way before I break down.

Beth's presence is there, but she's no comfort at the moment.

"It's part of the process, Bella," is all she says.


	37. Everything

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **A little on the long side, but you all deserve it.**

* * *

" _Where did your parents go?" Edward asks, watching his finger as it draws a line down my exposed shoulder._

 _I've showered after the beach and changed into my neutral tank top and shorts, though I know—and hope—they won't remain on my body for long._

" _Seattle," I say._

 _He hums and leans in to press his lips to my skin. I can smell the minty shampoo he used from my bathroom. I had offered to shower together, but he had refused, saying he wouldn't be able to go as slowly as he needs to tonight if we did, even though we've already seen each other naked multiple times._

 _But now his lips are trailing up my shoulder, along my throat and my heart pounds like a too tight drum. A fire burns through my body, illuminating off of each point of skin his lips touch._

" _What for?" he asks softly, and I barely register the question because I can hardly think straight._

" _Hmm?"_

 _He laughs quietly against my throat and then I feel his tongue teasing the skin beneath my ear. He drops the subject, for which I'm grateful. I don't want to talk about my mom and stepdad right now._

 _His fingers play with the hem of my tank top and I pull away just long enough to pull it over my head because I really want to feel his skin against mine, and he's already shirtless._

 _His hands rest on my waist and he's stroking the skin there, his hands warm and dry and I'm sure mine are the complete opposite. He pulls back and looks at me and then ducks his head to press his lips to the center of my collarbone._

" _Slow," he reminds me, warns me, when his eyes meet mine again. They're darker than I've ever seen them; hazy, almost. Hooded._

" _How slow?" I practically whine, and he's smiling down at me, but doesn't answer._

 _My breathing hitches when he tugs at my shorts and slips them down my legs, his eyes darting from my breasts, to the area between my legs that aches for him, back to my eyes and I really shouldn't be nervous or self-conscious or_ whatever _I'm feeling because he's touched me in all these places. Touched and kissed and licked and sucked, but I suddenly feel like I'm exposed for the first time._

 _He must notice, because he's kissing up my chest between my breasts before reaching my chin, then my mouth._

" _Slow," he repeats against my lips, and this time I'm grateful for the word and its meaning._

 _He kisses me until I'm out of breath, until my body is lifting off the bed for more. But he doesn't give me more until I'm practically crying with need._

 _His fingers are like hot velvet as they run over my body, down my shoulders, down my waist, across my stomach, tickling and feathering as they go. I melt beneath his fingers; he melts away the nerves with each passing touch._

 _His hands pass over my breasts, his fingers strumming against the straining buds and I press my chest further into him. He gets the message and his fingers are switched out for his mouth, his tongue, his teeth as they gently glide and mark._

 _As he kisses further down my body towards an area that has been the main focus each time he slips into my room late at night, I let out a small sigh because, despite the burning, despite the near-painful need, I'm content._

 _Just to be with him, in any way, is contentment._

 _His tongue moves over my swollen, hot, wet flesh and, like every time he has done this, it feels new and exciting and so unbelievably good_ _that I have a hard time keeping myself quiet. I have a hard time keeping my hips from moving against his face and, like always, he has to wrap his arms around my thighs to hold me still._

 _Just as I'm panting his name, twisting my fingers in my sheets, in his hair, against my pillows, he pulls away, leaving me squirming and writhing and gasping for his mouth again, for his tongue again._

 _But he has a different focus now, and I know he's not going to get me off with his mouth this time as he pulls up, pressing his lips to mine. I kiss him back like he is my lifeline._

 _At some point, he's lost his shorts and he's sliding himself along me, wetting himself, heating himself in every point of my body he can reach without being inside of me. He pulls back from my mouth and looks down at me, his bright emerald eyes holding everything we're both too distracted to say._

 _Despite the hypnotic movements of his hips, he asks, "Are you sure?" and I reach up, grabbing his hair and pulling his mouth back to mine as an answer. It's not enough, so I flex my own hips against his._

 _I can see, in the furrow of his brow and the line of concentration that forms between his eyes, that he is trying his hardest not to let his own need take over as he lifts himself above me. Using his knees, he spreads mine a little more and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, letting go of his hair in case the pain is too much. I don't want to hurt him._

 _He tips my hips up just an inch, and then he's sliding inside of me._

 _He's fast with the movement, filling me immediately and I think it must be what is best because the pinching, staggering pain my mother warned me about is not entirely there. Instead, it's an ache deep inside, a fullness that my body doesn't know how to handle, and so reacts by arching away from the bed, trying to move as far from the feeling of being unnaturally full as possible._

 _But I know it's Edward, and I know this is okay, so I let myself adjust and when my back falls slowly to the bed, the expression on his face is everything to me._

 _He's attentive and alert, but quiet and mindful as he lets my body relax. I can see the strain in the muscles of his arms to stay still and the look of distress in his eyes that maybe he's not been gentle enough, slow enough._

 _For him, I manage a smile and then it's not just for him when I feel his body relax around me._

" _I'm okay," I tell him and he nods, his jaw clenched, eyes wild._

 _The ache flairs when he moves for the first time and I wince and he stops immediately, though I can see—and feel—how hard that is for him to do, and I repeat, "I'm okay," when the ache dulls._

 _The feeling turns into something else as he moves again, and then again, and then again, and I know he's holding back, trying to go as slowly as possible for me, but the 'something else' has turned into a growing need from deep within me and soon I'm beckoning him on with my sounds, the fluttering of my eyelids, the arching of my back._

 _He moves a little faster, a little harder with each moan that tumbles from my mouth, until the sounds turn into breathy mentions of his name and there's an urgency to his movements, a desperation to his panting groans that I think are my new favorite sounds._

 _I want to watch him, but I can't. My eyes refuse to stay open as he moves inside of me, around me, above me and I can hardly even kiss him back when his mouth finds mine. It seems the same for him, too, and we give up, just being in each other's space, his face buried against my shoulder, my fingers and arms wrapped around his neck, in his hair, moving over the expanse of his hard back._

 _His hand drifts between us and he's touching me in that spot that he knows can get me off, and he's moving his finger in a way that he knows_ will _get me off and I'm a moaning, panting mess as I press my lips to his shoulder._

 _I'm shocked when I pulse around him, lifting for more and thankfully finding it, because Alice told me this doesn't usually happen like_ this _. But, I think to myself, Edward can make anything happen._

 _I know when he's going to come, because I've seen this look on his face before, but I've never really appreciated it as I am doing right now. I watch him fall apart above me, dropping himself to me as though he's drained every particle of energy from his body._

 _I feel full in a different way now and I kiss over every inch of his broad shoulder that I can reach until he comes to, meeting my lips with his, marking me as his own._

" _I love you," I whisper and pull him closer to me. My heart swells with the knowledge of what we've just done; of the ways in which we can be close now and I want to do it again, though maybe not right away._

" _You okay?" he asks after he pulls himself out of me and I nod, a content smile spreading over my face._

" _More than okay," I say. I close my eyes and bask in the feeling of his body surrounding mine._

 _He moves us so he's behind me, pulling me into his arms, his chest hard and hot and pounding with a slowing rhythm against my back. He pulls a sheet over us and tangles one of his legs in between mine._

 _I feel his lips pressing against my ear sometime later while I'm drifting in and out of semi-consciousness. It's not a resurrection, but an admiration._

" _This isn't it for us, you know," he whispers and the statement is so vague, but I think I know exactly what he is saying, what he means._

 _Everything, I think._

 _We are everything._


	38. Alone

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Thank you so much for the positive reviews from the last chapter. I hope I did the two justice.**

* * *

Emmett has already left by the time I make it back out to the parking lot.

"He said he'll call you," Mike says, and his tone and expression are far from friendly. His eyes search my face, I'm sure it's puffy and red, and he looks away pointedly before getting into the passenger side of his own car. He's too angry to drive.

He slams the door.

I take a breath and get into the driver's side and, before I turn the key into the ignition, turn to look at him.

"Do you hate me?" I ask, and he won't look at me, either.

"Please," I beg quietly, staring blindly at the steering wheel. "Don't be like this right now. I need—"

"Just drive to the apartment, _Bella_ ," he says, hashing out my forbidden name like a curse.

"I'm sorry, I—"

His head whips around, his eyes glinting blue.

"Are you _fucking kidding me_?" he yells and I flinch back. He slams his fist against the dashboard and I try to sit as quietly as possible, knowing he has every right to his anger.

"Are you mad because I went back in?" I ask in a whisper after a few seconds. It's a stupid question, but I feel the need to ask it. I need to know what he's so angry about so I can make it right.

" _I'm fucking mad because you're still in love with that piece of shit!_ " he yells, his face turning red with each shout. " _I'm fucking mad because you dragged me into this! I'm fucking mad because I got the shit beat out of me over some fucking sloppy seconds!"_

My hand flies out of its own accord, moving to slap him but he's faster. My wrist aches in his grip, his face inches from mine, nearly purple and slobbering with bubbles of saliva at the corners of his mouth.

I try to pull back, fear overcoming me, but he holds tighter.

"Are you _fucking kidding me?_ " he repeats, though it's quieter this time; deadlier.

Even with Edward's anger, I never feared for my own safety. Now, it's like this situation could take a million different turns. But we're still _here_ , in the parking lot and I've seen firsthand what happens when violence erupts.

"Mike," I try to say, to warn, but he's past the point of hearing. His fingers have a death grip around my wrist and I cry out when he pushes my hand away from him.

I don't think it's broken, but it feels like it very well could be.

I cradle my wrist as I move to open my door and I'm shocked that tears aren't pouring down my face, but maybe I don't have any left to shed.

"Where the _fuck_ are you going?" Mike sputters as I open the door and step out, slamming it behind me.

"Getting a ride," I state simply.

I hear him huffing behind me as though it's a mere annoyance. He's out of the car, too, now, walking towards me.

"Don't _fucking_ come near me," I hiss, stepping even further from him.

Mike raises his hands in a show of solidarity, but I'm past that point.

"Look, Bells," he starts and then hangs his head. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"What?" I snap. "Call me 'sloppy seconds?' Hold my wrist that tight?"

"Shit," he mumbles, his hands holding his head. "Shit, shit, shit."

"I'm going to have my dad pick me up," I state simply. "I just want to get my bag."

"You tried to slap me," he says as way of explanation.

"You called me 'sloppy seconds,'" I respond just as quickly.

"Bells," he sighs and closes his eyes tightly. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

But I'm already shaking my head.

"Being around people when they're angry makes you realize something," I say, reaching across the seat to grab my purse and then moving to the far side of the car. "They say things that they regret, but usually what they say has been on their mind for a while."

He has no response so I turn until I hear his car jump to life and drive away.

When I look back, the parking lot is empty. There's not even a phone booth, no simple way into the jail house before me. I feel completely and utterly alone.

And for the first time in my life, I think that I actually am.


	39. Charges

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **SHORT. I _know._ This is a bit of a leeway chapter to more exciting stuff :)**

* * *

It's not until the second ring that I hang up, staring down at the phone in my hand in thought because I can't call Charlie, a _police_ officer, with a red and throbbing wrist. He'll demand to know exactly what happened, if he doesn't guess right away, and then demand that I press charges which is something that I really don't want to do. I'd rather just forget.

It's a strange time, with strange circumstances, with even stranger consequences and reactions, and that's it.

But now I'm at a loss because I'm hours away from campus, from Rose, and anyone else I could call would not be happy to hear from me.

Except, maybe, Alice.

And that's a big maybe because, even though we left things on a good note a few weeks ago, I haven't heard much from her since. Alice isn't the type to easily forgive; I know this for a fact.

But she's all I have right now and, honestly, she's the only person I want to see.

I dial her number, realizing a second too late that I don't even know if this _is_ her number anymore, but before my panic can set in, she answers.

She must have deleted my number because she answers with a questionable greeting.

"Alice," I say, and there's silence on the other line.

" _Hi, Bella,"_ she answers after a few seconds.

"How—how are you?" I ask because I don't know what else to say.

" _Cut to the chase, girl,"_ she says, though her voice is not entirely unkind and I can't help but to smile lightly.

"I…I need a ride," I start and wince when she barks out a laugh. "And to talk to you," I finish.

There's a long sigh on the other line and then a quiet, _"Fuck,"_ before, _"'Kay. Where are you?"_

This is why I love Alice. She told me once she'd always be there for me, and she's never fallen on that promise, though I've fallen on _my_ end plenty of times.

I frown because I don't know if she'll like my answer.

"I'm in the parking lot of the prison," I say.

There's a heated silence and I refrain from biting my nails because if she refuses, I'll know where she still stands in regard to Edward.

I'll know where she still stands in regard to me.

" _Fuck, Bella,"_ she whispers and I wonder when she began swearing so much because I don't remember her saying things like this when we were friends, but that was back then and things have changed. _We've_ changed.

" _Fine,"_ she finally agrees and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. _"But you have to buy me a smoothie from Lingos."_

I can't keep the smile out of my voice as I agree.


	40. Always

**I do not own Twilight**

* * *

 ** _High School: Fall of Junior Year_**

 _Alice's house is huge._

 _Like, too-big-for-a-police-officer-and-hairdresser-salary huge, but she tells me that her grandmother left an even bigger amount of money to her mom when she died, so that's how they can afford the house._

 _I'm a little dazed walking under the thirty-foot high ceilings, but honestly, the house fits her personality. It's airy and bright and yellow and pink and I can't imagine her father living here because I've met him and he's not very airy and bright._

 _We only ever hang out at my house because her brother, Alec, has been home from college for the summer and she tells me he is arrogant and annoying and immature and she wants to be as far away from him as possible, but now that it's September, he's back in New York._

" _I can't wait until we go to college," she boasts as she rummages through the fridge. "I can't wait to get out of this town. You know," she pauses, looking over at me, two packages of ice cream bars in her hands, "New York was_ my _thing and of course Alec has to go and ruin it."_

" _New York is pretty big," I say._

" _New York_ City _," she emphasizes and tosses me one of the bars._

" _Where there's, like, a trillion people?" I tease, because it's true. She'll never even have to see her brother if she doesn't want to._

" _Have you ever been?" she asks, sitting on one of the bright blue stools at the counter. I sit on the one beside her and open my ice cream._

" _Once when I was younger." When my mom was dating Chad, but that's not a time either of us like to think about, and I've only known Alice for four months, so I doubt she wants to hear the stories, either._

 _Alice thinks about my answer for a while._

" _When I visit schools there, will you come with?"_

 _I smile and nod because I've never had a friend like Alice before. She's so forward and doesn't care that we only met four months because our dads forced us together like two toddlers. She decided she liked me, so she's going to be my best friend._

" _So…" Alice side-eyes me and I can see by the hidden grin on her face that she's going to demand the details I told her I would give her later. I can already feel the blush spotting my cheeks, my neck._

" _It's the next morning…" she says and the words are only significant because yesterday was the first time I had hung out with Edward on a weekend._

" _And in a few hours, it'll be the next afternoon," I say because I can't help it, and because the look she gives me makes me laugh._

" _Spill it, Swan," she demands._

" _He took me to look at the stars," I say after a while. I can tell she's not impressed._

"Stars _?" she asks. "Edward_ Cullen _does not take girls to look at stars. He takes girls to the Alcove off of Winter Street so he can make out with them in his car." Her eyes widen. "Did he make out with you in his car?"_

 _I shake my head, but my high from the night before is slowly fading because I know the only reason Alice would know that Edward takes girls to the Alcove is because he's taken some of the girls she knows to the Alcove. And made out with them, or whatever else they've been lucky enough to do with him._

" _Did he kiss you at all?" she presses._

 _Again, I shake my head and then drop it into my hands. "I don't think he likes me like that."_

 _Alice doesn't answer but when I finally peek up at her, the look on her face is incredulous._

" _Bella. If Edward Cullen didn't_ like _you like_ that _, do you think he would have made you look at the stars with him?"_

 _I shrug because, honestly, I don't know the answer to that._

" _If Edward Cullen didn't like you like that, he would have taken you to the Alcove, sucked your face off, copped a feel, and dropped you off like nothing happened—stop pouting."_

 _I can't help it; I pout more._

 _Alice groans and reaches over to pat my head. "Maybe you need to make the first move?" she asks._

 _The questioning tone makes us both laugh and my spirits are lifted, but only slightly because I really like him and I really_ am _afraid he's going to do exactly what she said he_ won't _do._

 _Alice pats my shoulder this time._

" _Look, boys are stupid," she says. "Sometimes you need to shove them in the right direction and if that doesn't work…well, I'm always here for you, 'kay?"_

 _I know, because I know_ myself _, that I won't be doing any shoving, but her words make me feel better because she's right. I'll always have Alice._

 _I smile at her._

"' _kay."_


	41. Training

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

"So," Alice says, biting on the end of her straw until I can hear it cracking, "What's up?"

It's such a general question, but I know what she is asking.

I drop my chin into my hand and push the pomegranate smoothie away from me. Suddenly, I've lost my appetite.

"I don't know, Al," I say and then glance up at her quickly to make sure it's still okay to call her that. She doesn't seem to notice. "I just…I don't know."

Her nails strum against the table top. "Why are you visiting him in jail, Bella? I thought you'd moved on."

I don't answer right away because I _can't_ answer.

"Don't you remember when you broke up with him for, like, three days during the summer before college?"

My head snaps up because we weren't even friends at that point...and because of _course_ I remember. How could I not?

She shrugs. "Jas told me."

I let out a breath, glad for the opportunity to change the subject. It's one I had wanted to get on, too, because I don't even know Alice's life anymore.

"How is Jasper?"

Alice smiles a little and I can tell without her having to say anything that they are still together. It makes me happy and makes feel sick at the same time.

"Good," she says. "He's training in Florida right now."

"Training?"

She sends me a look that makes me feel like a horrible person.

"Yeah." She purses her lips. "He's in the minor leagues right now. He's hoping to get drafted."

I try to picture Jasper as I remembered him from high school. Lean, tall, with a hell of a pitching arm and I smile down at the table.

"What about you?" I ask, twirling my finger in some condensation left on the table. Lingos is practically empty, for which I'm grateful. "What happened to New York?"

Alice makes a face. "I tried it. Hated it."

I try to hide the shock from my expression, though inside I'm completely stunned. New York was _everything_ to Alice. She had posters of New York City strewn along the walls of her bedroom.

She shrugs off any further questions and takes a sip of her smoothie. It's white; vanilla-bean flavored, just like she used to get every Friday afternoon. We'd walk here after school and spend hours gossiping about anything and everything. Mostly Jasper. And Edward.

"Community isn't so bad," she says and then waves her hand towards me. "What about you? You still at U-Dub?"

I nod and take a sip of my own smoothie so that I don't have to talk. I don't want to talk about U-Dub or New York or Community College. I don't want to talk about anything that reminds me I haven't seen Alice in nearly three years.

"Lit?" she asks. "Or did your mom switch your degree over to law in the middle of the night?"

The smirk on her face is infectious. She always knew how my mother was, because Alice's mom _wasn't_ like her. Alice could do anything she wanted, _be_ anything she wanted, as long as she came home at night.

I was lucky to be allowed out on the weekends.

"English lit," I say. "She did throw a few psych pamphlets at me. I think she thinks I'm wasting my time."

Alice giggles. "Aren't we all?" she asks and then grins at me over her cup.

I smile, thinking that we could be okay, and then she crosses her arms on top of the table and sends me a knowing look, and my smile slips.

"Really," she says, "what are you doing Bella?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, but my voice is too innocent for genuine naivety and she knows that. She lifts an eyebrow.

"First you call me to pick you up from jail, and then I show up and you barely talk on the ride here, and now _this_?" She lifts her hand, showing me the back of her wrist and I immediately move mine beneath the table. In this strange reunion, I'd forgotten the past hour.

"Really, Bella," she repeats. "What the fuck are you doing?"


	42. Ultimatum

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

"Shit," is Alice's response when I tell her what happened. "You gonna tell your dad?"

I shake my head quickly, leaning back in my chair. "I just want to forget about it," I say.

"But you live with him?" she asks, and I nod.

"Not for much longer." And it's true. I won't stay with him no matter the excuses.

Alice blows out a breath and leans back in her own chair, staring at me with her wide, all-seeing eyes.

"What are you gonna do?" she asks.

I shrug and then lean forward to spin my cup around, reading the small print in clear lettering. "I'm gonna move my stuff out and see if I can stay with my friend. She lives closer to the campus than I do."

Alice shakes her head, clearly at a loss. "I can't believe he called you sloppy seconds," she says.

I wince because the phrase has been playing and replaying in my head ever since I left. I don't care that he said it, just the fact that he's supposedly felt this way for so long, as though I was merely some vessel to be passed around.

"What even is sloppy seconds, anyway?" Alice asks. "I mean, wouldn't he be happy that you've only been with one other person?" She shakes her head and I try to ignore the way the word 'person' makes me feel, because it seems so impersonal, like Edward was just someone along a timeline.

"Guys are so stupid," she concludes and I nod, because, yes. Guys are stupid.

"Are you gonna tell Edward?" she asks and the question surprises me because she of all people should know I would never, under any circumstances, tell Edward that Mike did anything to hurt me, but she's already backtracking when she sees my face. "No, I mean, are you going to tell him you broke up with Mike?"

I stare at her with a wordless horror because this hasn't even crossed my mind. In everything that's happened in the last hour, the idea of telling my imprisoned ex-boyfriend that I've just left my current boyfriend is so mind- and life-altering, that my brain has completely shut out the idea.

And _Beth_.

What is her plan _now_?

She can't use Mike against Edward anymore, so what _can_ she use?

"Jesus, you think he'd take it that badly?" Alice asks in response to my heavy silence.

" _God,_ " I moan, dropping my head to the table. "I don't even know. I might not even tell him."

"You think he'd ask?" she asks and I stare over at her, suddenly tense.

"Alice…" I start and then shake my head because I don't even know how to explain the depths of Edward's feelings at this point.

 _Ask_? I feel like he already _knows_.

"What's he like now?" Alice asks. "Has he changed at all?"

I can sense a genuine curiosity, a genuine concern and I wonder if this is coming from her, or Jasper.

"He's quiet," I say.

"He's always been quiet," she retorts, but I shake my head.

"No, like, he barely talks to anyone. He only started talking when the therapist asked me to talk about Mike."

"What did you say about him?" she asks and I see a hint of the Alice I know from the intrigued look on her face.

"I don't know. She told me to list the reasons that I love him," I say.

Alice raises her eyebrows. "And?" she presses. "What were they?"

I try to think back to my answers but I'm having a hard time remembering exactly what _I_ said, because all I can hear is Edward's voice, asking why I was doing this to him, and all I can see are Edward's eyes, begging me to stop.

"I think I said he was sweet and takes care of me." Alice raises a single eyebrow in defiance and I understand the irony. Then, I flinch. "I said I like that my mom likes him."

Alice grimaces and I feel badly all over again even though I hadn't meant for the words to be a dig at Edward in the least.

"Remember when you told me how you demanded your mom to list off the reasons she doesn't think Edward is good enough for you?"

I nod reluctantly, because I don't know where she is going with this and I don't know if I _want_ to know where she is going with this.

"And you said she could barely even come up with one? She was just, like, stuttering and talking in circles?"

Again, I nod.

"Well," she says, and her voice softens. It's something she does when she's about to say something slightly harsh, something that you probably don't want to hear. I refrain from plugging my ears. "I bet that's what you sounded like to Edward when you were listing off the things you love about Mike."

I suck in a breath.

"And I'm not saying you didn't love Mike…" she trails off and then shrugs as though everything she is saying is meant to be taken lightly. "I'm just saying, the reasons you say you love him are such bullshit, Bella."

The silence in my mind is deafening.

"Think of all the reasons you loved Edward, and compare them to the boring, mediocre reasons you loved Mike," she adds when I don't answer but I refuse to think of the reasons I loved Edward because I'm not ready to fall down that hole. I know once I fall, it's going to be hell getting back up.

"I thought you were anti-Edward," I say instead and my voice is flat.

"I've never been anti-Edward," Alice says and _that's_ such bullshit because, towards the end of senior year, I could see the _anti-Edward, anti-Bella_ look in her eyes. "I'm just anti-letting-him-get-away-with-everything."

My jaw drops and I quickly snap it shut, hurt that she would even say that. "And you think I let him get away with everything?"

"I mean, the proof is in the three years you were together, Bella," she retorts.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I snap and then close my eyes because getting in another fight with Alice is the last thing I want to do. Besides, isn't this what I called her for in the first place? Didn't I want her opinion on this…on everything?

"Sorry," I say when I blink over at her, but the look on her face is nothing but sympathetic. It makes the lump in my throat harder to breath around.

"I'm not trying to blame you, Bella, I'm just saying that Edward never had consequences other than a slap on his wrist from the school system and he didn't care about them. All he cared about was you and you were there for him no matter what. You never gave him an ultimatum."

"Like what?" I ask. My tone is harsher than I mean for it to be.

"I don't know," Alice says with a shrug, "but wouldn't an ultimatum be better than where he is now?"

And even though I shake my head and go back to staring down at the small lettering on the side of my melting smoothie, I can't help but to think about the time that I _did_ give him an ultimatum—and Alice is right.

I gave him one, but never fell through with it. I was there for him, even when I thought he was wrong.

He could fight, because he knew I'd stay by his side.


	43. Resilience

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **You all deserve some angst, followed by some making up :)**

* * *

 _ **Summer before College**_

 _It's easier to avoid Edward in the summer._

 _At least, that's what I told myself the day that I broke up with him._

 _Tensions have been rising for weeks. I think it scares him that I'll be so far from him after the summer is over._

 _I dodge call after call, text after text, visit after visit until, eventually, Charlie has to tell him that I don't want to see him anymore, even though I've already told him to his face, two days prior._

 _I try not to stare out the window as they talk in the driveway and I try to ignore the look of sympathy on Charlie's face. My mom's presence behind me is one of strength, of quiet sorrow, but a resilience so strong that it makes me feel like what I've done is good, even though I'm terrified it's really, really bad._

 _The look on Edward's face clarifies that this decision was and_ is _really, really bad and I have to stop myself from reaching across to open the window and call out to him._

 _My mom's hand on my shoulder is a powerful reminder that she thinks this is right._

 _When Charlie comes back inside, I pretend that the hidden smile pulling at my mom's lips doesn't kill me inside._

" _Are you sure this is what you want?" Charlie asks once my mom has gone upstairs. His voice is quiet, like he's afraid my mom will hear. Or afraid if he's any louder, the pounding in my head will become an explosion._

" _No," I say and the answer is truthful, if not indignant._

 _I ignore him and my mom for the rest of the day and stay holed up in my room, staring at the cellphone I turned off so I don't have to see his name flash across, if it even will anymore._

 _Two days later and I'm disappointed, but not shocked, by my inability to stay away._

 _He stands on the bottom step to my deck, hidden by my backyard and surrounding woods, and I stand two steps above him._

 _Like this, we're eye-level and I can see the glazed over look, the sleepless marks that ring his eyes, the reddened streaks to his bloodshot gaze. I wonder if he's been crying, or high, or, both._

 _I stare at him and try to ignore every impulse in my body to sink to his level, to let him hold me like we both want him to, but I resist. I resist so hard, tears rim my eyes and I bite down to keep from crying._

 _His jade eyes study mine and he looks away quickly, down to the post between us, his own jaw clenching and unclenching._

 _He's trying not to cry, too._

 _I'm grateful that his hands are shoved deep into the front pockets of his jeans. I have no excuse to try to reach for his fingers this way._

 _I don't know why I'm standing here, or why I'm letting_ him _stand here, or why I told Emmett to tell Edward that he can talk to me today, if he'd like to._

 _And even though I don't know, I_ know _._

 _It's a weakness that grows in both of us. We're one and the same and I don't know if I can make it without him._

 _I don't know if he can make it without me._

 _It's stupid when I let my body tip forward, my toes holding me to the step, and wrap my arms around his neck, grounding myself to him, and it's even more stupid when he doesn't reciprocate. It's stupid and annoying and heartbreaking that he doesn't take his hands out of his pockets to hug me back._

 _But I can feel it in the way he fixes his footing and lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan of pain. I can feel it in the way he relaxes against me, his tense muscles loosening as though they haven't relaxed once in the four days we were apart._

" _What are we doing?" I whisper against his hair and then rephrase. "What am_ I _doing?"_

 _I think my question scares him because he pulls his hands from his pockets and wraps them around my waist, pulling me from the step I'm holding onto so that I'm completely dependent on him. His hand comes up to hold the back of my head and he buries his face into the crook of my shoulder._

 _I'm whole and wounded, all at once._

" _Don't leave me," he begs and then, in the same breath, "Take me back."_

 _He pulls back and guides my face to his, my mouth to his and everything is complete._

 _I'm glad my parents are at work because I know what's going to happen when Edward picks me up and lets me wrap my legs around his waist._

 _He wastes no time when we're in my room, stripping me of my shirt and shorts, his mouth hot and fiery on the skin of my neck, my chest, my stomach. I reciprocate just as hurriedly, just as desperately. We hold each other for a few seconds, skin to skin, and reunion is spectacular and thrilling and breathtaking._

 _His eyes hold mine and I see what leaving him has done to him; I've brought his worst fear to life and the realization brings me to tears._

 _I'm just another person who's left him._

 _His fingers and mouth brush away the tears, but he's still moving inside of me, building me to a crescendo that I know I will never be able to reach with anyone else. We're like a holy union; we seek a higher power and find it within each other._

" _I'm sorry," he whispers and the sour grievance of his words contradicts the way he fucks me, as though he's trying to keep my body with his; like he's afraid I'll disappear if he doesn't hold me hard enough._

" _I'm sorry I'm controlling." He lifts my hips slightly and I'm caught off guard, reaching to hold onto the blankets surrounding me._

" _I'm sorry I'm jealous." His tongue and lips are doing something to the skin beneath my ear that I know will leave a mark._

" _I'm sorry I'm possessive." His mouth finds mine and his words are proven when his tongue takes over my own._

 _And when I find my end with him, my back arching high, moans vibrating involuntarily from my lips, there's a small voice in the back of my head reminding me that he hasn't said he'll stop._


	44. Gray

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Gah, I am astounded by all of the reviews! I'm so glad people enjoy this story. Please keep reading, because it's what I write for :)**

 **I love you all,**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

"So, what do you talk about?"

Alice glances over at me from behind her sunglasses when I don't answer. She's driving me to my mom's house now, even though I'm not sure I want to leave her just yet.

I shrug.

"Not too much," I say, because truthfully, we haven't spoken about much. "About Mike, about how Edward and I aren't good for each other. Things like that."

Alice grimaces.

"Jesus," she says. "How does he take _that_?"

"Um, not well." I can't help but to laugh, though there's not a trace of humor in the sound. "It's like a push and pull. I try to convince him that I've moved on, and he tries to convince me that I haven't. That's basically it."

She looks over at me and even though I can't see her eyes, I know the look she's giving me. She wants to ask _if_ I've moved on, but instead she asks, "What about his dad?"

"What about him?" I ask.

She looks at me like I'm stupid.

"You never talk about how abusive his dad was? How his mom left in the middle of senior year without a word? I feel like that probably has a lot to do with his issues."

I wince at the term 'issues'.

"No, we don't ever get on that subject." I shake my head and stare out the window, glad that we _haven't_ broached that subject because I know it will be harder for me to remain so distant with him if I see that pain in his eyes again. "I mean, Emmett goes to the sessions and I'm sure Edward has one-on-one sessions," the thought of that, with Beth, makes me feel sick. "They probably talk about all that stuff during those sessions."

Alice nods distractedly and I get the feeling she thinks I should be doing more. _I_ think I should be doing more. All our sessions start with his silence, continue with us arguing over whether I've moved on or not, and then ends with one of us bolting because we don't like the direction it's taken.

"How's his therapist?"

I roll my head to look at her with a marked expression and she laughs.

"Her name's Beth and I'm pretty sure she's in love with him," I say.

"How so?" Alice laughs.

"She babies him. She _touches_ him." I sigh. "She tries to make me out as the bad guy."

"Are you the bad guy?" Alice asks, and I hate the question because it's one that I've been asking myself. All this time, I've thought all of this lands on Edward, but now, I'm not so sure.

"Remember that fight Edward had with Tyler?" I ask instead of answering her question directly. She doesn't like it, but nods. "Well, afterwards, we both were in guidance. You remember Patty?"

Alice nods and raises her eyebrows, which is everyone's reaction to the reminder of Patty, the high school guidance counselor.

"Well," I continue, "she told me that Edward fights because of my reactions."

"What do you mean?" Alice asks.

"She said, well, she _implied_ , that most of the fights happen because he's so attentive to my reactions. Like, he's trying to prevent _me_ from being upset, and fighting is the only way he knows how."

I look over at Alice because she doesn't say anything. She's staring out at the road, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Do you think she was right?" she asks after a few seconds.

I look away, staring at the passing trees just outside of my neighborhood. The sky is gray, the road is gray, even the trees look gray. Everything is just dull and lifeless. It reflects how I feel.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," I say eventually.


	45. Disregard

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

 _ **High School: Fall of Junior Year**_

 _I bite the cap to my pen, staring down at my homework, but not really paying attention to any of the calculus problems that are laid out before me._

 _There's too much swimming through my head; too much to think about. Too much to be excited about._

 _Edward's sitting across from me and I can feel him looking at me every once in a while. Every time we make eye contact, he just smirks and looks back down at his biology homework. I want to kick him, or kiss him, or take him up to my room and make him do dirty things to me, things we haven't done yet, because I know he knows he's distracting me._

 _I'm not sure which I want to do yet, but every time he looks at me, I get closer and closer to the last one._

 _But I'm also nervous because we just made this,_ us _, official yesterday, after he told me he didn't think we needed labels, and then after he texted me and told me I was the only girl he'd ever felt things for, and there's another step that we need to take that I'm not sure he wants to take._

 _But_ I _want to take it because I'm tired of trying to get him out of the house before my mom gets home at six, or before Charlie stops by the house during a patrol. Edward always parks a street away, just in case, but I'm tired of the sneaking around._

 _It doesn't feel real when we have to sneak._

" _Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow?" I blurt out, and then hold my breath because I hadn't wanted to ask like that._

 _Edward looks up at me, surprise in his green eyes. He looks doubtful, like he's not sure it's a good idea._

" _It's too soon," I say with a nod and look back at my homework, trying to forget I even asked, but the blood is rushing through my ears and that makes it hard to forget._

 _I scribble out a math problem, certain I'm not even using the right formula, but the pen is plucked from my fingers before I can solve the equation. I look up quickly, startled, but Edward isn't looking at me. He's studying the pen like it's something interesting, reading the wording on it and then touching the cap with the tip of his index finger. It's covered in bite marks._

" _You're the first girl I've really ever dated like this," he says and my breathing shallows. I like that he thinks I'm different than the other girls he's been with; I like that_ I _think I'm different than the other girls he's been with._

" _I've never sat at a girl's kitchen table before, doing homework," he adds._

" _Well, I've never even had a guy in my kitchen," I say and he looks over at me and smirks._

" _I'm glad I'm the first," he says._

" _Me, too," I agree quietly._

 _I'm smiling because he has that lopsided grin on his face in reaction to my blush. It makes me blush harder._

 _His smile drops just as quickly as it came and he tips the pen over, tapping the cap against the table a few times. "I don't know if I'm the kind of guy you want to introduce to your parents," he says quietly, but seriously._

 _My breathing hitches because this doesn't sound like something a boyfriend would say, and now I'm beginning to doubt we really are official, or real, or whatever the correct term is. I frown and stare at him._

" _Why not?" I ask._

 _He sits back and grabs his baseball cap from the table and pulls it on so the brim sits low. It's something he does when he's thinking, when he's unsure about something and the sight makes my stomach drop because I feel like he's about to tell me we shouldn't see each other anymore._

" _Your stepdad knows me," he says and I make a noise of inquiry in the back of my throat, but he's still not looking at me._

" _I know," I say and his eyes snap to mine. "I've told them about you," I add._

 _He shakes his head. "No, I mean, Officer Swan knows me. He knows my family and I don't think he'd like it if he found out we are together."_

" _What does that mean?" I ask, because he always says things like this, hints at things that make no sense in the context he says them. I feel like he's always trying to keep me at arm's length, but at the same time, telling me that we're 'together' and it's extremely confusing._

" _It means my dad is kind of a well-known asshole," he says._

 _I stare because I don't know what to say because this has never come up before. Charlie has never said anything to me about Edward's dad, but now the slight looks of relief when he asks if I'm going to Edward's house and the answer is a no makes sense. As does the way he brushes off any knowledge of Edward's family when my mom asks._

" _What does that mean?" I repeat because I honestly don't know and I'd like to know because I'd like to know Edward, inside and out._

 _He stares at me, his brim pulled so low that the shadow over his eyes almost hides them from me, but I can see the indecision warring through his mind before, finally, his tense jaw relaxes. He leans closer to the table and stretches his arm out to me. I think for a second that he's extending his hand for me to take, but he's never been like that, so the movement surprises me and I just stare until I see a faint scar that leads from the side of his wrist, up to the center of his thumb. I'm surprised I've never seen it before, but then again, if his hands are that close to me, they're usually_ on _me._

 _He leans over to trace the line._

" _I was seven," he says. "I pitched a ball to Em and it hit the mirror of one of my dad's cars." He pulls his hand away before I can fully comprehend what he's saying. "He used a shard of the glass that had broken off," he says drily._

 _I feel like crying. Or throwing up._

 _He shows me his other arm and I have to fight from looking away because I don't want to see these scars, I don't want to hear these memories, but I have to if I want to be with him._

 _He points to his wrist and though there's no physical scar, I know there's an emotional one._

" _Broken in three places because I talked back."_

 _I bite my lip._

" _How old were you?" I ask._

 _He shrugs, "Fourteen?"_

 _I'm biting my lip so hard that I think I might break skin. I'm trying not to cry because I know he wouldn't appreciate that._

" _He's only like this when he's drunk, but that's enough of the time," he adds and the uncaring tone to his voice, the way in which he holds himself as though he's just another normal teenager has my heart bleeding for him._

" _Where's your mom?" I ask, because I can't believe someone wouldn't step in to stop this, but again, Edward shrugs._

" _Sometimes at work, sometimes at home."_

" _She doesn't do anything?" I ask. My voice wavers._

" _If she did anything, it'd be worse for all of us," he concludes and I sit back in my chair, contemplating a childhood like the one he's described. I've never even been hit before. I can't imagine such violence coming at the hand of your own father, such disregard coming from the silence of your own mother._

" _Don't pity me, Bella," he says and his voice is harsh, demanding, like he was afraid of this the whole time._

 _I look up at him quickly and I know there are tears in my eyes. I just hope they don't track down my face, but I refuse to wipe them away because it'll be a sign of defeat._

" _I'm sorry," I whisper, but I don't know if I'm apologizing for his fucked up childhood, or for feeling badly about his fucked up childhood. Probably both, but I hope he thinks it's the latter._

 _He doesn't say anything, but his expression softens and his eyes roam my face. I don't feel like kicking him, or kissing him, or making him do dirty things to me anymore. I feel like holding him until the morning; I feel like protecting him and telling him that I'll protect him, even though I know that I can't._

 _Finally, he relaxes against his seat and there's a semblance of a smile on his calm face._

" _So," he says. "What time should I come over for dinner tomorrow?"_

 _The smile on my face is watery, but matches his._


	46. Friends

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **I have a few chapters on hold for tomorrow, and plan to write for a good portion of the day, so stay tuned because things could get hectic.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

"You gonna go back?" Alice asks.

We're sitting in her car in the driveway of my mom's house. Charlie's cruiser is here, so I know he, at least, is home.

I shrug, because I haven't been thinking about that much. "I don't know if he wants me to. I mean, he asked to go back to his cell last time."

Alice rolls her eyes and picks at the ends of her slightly longer hair. It's not as crazy now, and I'm almost certain she could pull it into a ponytail if she tried hard enough. I kind of miss the spiky ends.

"The day Edward doesn't want you around him will be the day pigs fly," she says.

I heave a sigh and look out the window at the surrounding woods, the road, the other houses. Everything is so normal out here, it seems so weird. Edward hasn't seen _normal_ in three months. I'm suddenly stunned that I actually _don't_ know how he is doing. I don't think I've asked him once during the sessions; I haven't had a chance. Everything is so structured based on what Beth thinks is best.

"How's your dad, by the way?" Alice asks after a few seconds of silence. She's looking at me with real concern. I feel like we are in high school again, hanging out in a car in a driveway somewhere, extending our curfews for as long as possible. Mine was always much earlier than hers.

"He's doing good," I say. "He's pretty much healed. He can't go back to work. He spends a lot of time moping around and hiding his crutches from my mom." I smile, because it feels nice to be able to say things like this when, two months ago, I was rushing to the hospital, thinking I may not find him in a positive condition. "How's _your_ dad?" I ask.

"Oh," Alice says, and waves her hand dismissively. "He's fine. I hate that the hospital doesn't tell you what happened when they call. I rushed over, thinking my dad was dead."

I nod in agreement, but Alice is looking at me sheepishly.

"What?" I ask, taken aback.

"I'm sorry for what I said to you in the elevator." She grimaces. "It was really bitchy of me."

I laugh, because it seems like _years_ ago that I saw her in the elevator. Decades, really. Another lifetime.

"It's fine," I say. "I deserved it."

"Maybe you did," Alice says and her grin makes the corners of her eyes crease. I laugh; I can't help it.

"Thanks for the ride," I say and then stop before getting out of her car, my fingers reaching for the handle. "Do you think we can be friends again?" I ask and I really hope the answer is yes. If not right now, then sometime in the future.

"I thought we already were friends again," is her only response.

And this is just how Alice is. One minute, everything is a mess, and the next, the corners have been smoothed and everything is together.

I've missed this in my life.


	47. Curfew

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **So I _think_ , when this story is complete, I might upload all of the past chapters in the order that they actually fall in so that you guys can read the past story-line if you want. I know it jumps around, and I hope the tag in the beginning about what time of year the chapter happens in is helpful, but I really think I'll post a second "story" just with these certain chapters. **

**What do you think?**

* * *

 _ **High School: Junior Year, September**_

" _Bella's curfew is in, like, ten minutes!" Alice hollers from her car and I'm already blushing like an idiot because it's embarrassing to be a sixteen-year-old with the curfew of a twelve-year-old._

" _Nine-thirty?" someone snickers and I'm about to highly consider punching Alice in the shoulder when a hand touches mine._

 _The touch is light, but I can already smell the clean, soapy smell I knew he arrived with._

" _I can drive you home," Edward offers and flashes me his lopsided smile when I blink up at him._

" _I-it's okay," I say and shake my head. "Alice can take me."_

 _He shrugs. "I'm heading to the res. It's along the way."_

" _Oh…" I start, but Alice, who has been keenly listening to Edward's offer tosses my bag out of her window towards me._

" _You'd better get going, Bella," she says, and her dark eyes are too wide for real innocence. "If you're gonna make it home for nine-thirty, you should go with Edward. It might take me a while to find my keys."_

 _I turn to glance up at Edward again and he's watching me with nothing short of an amused expression._

" _Do you know where I live?" I ask, and he shrugs with one shoulder, moving past me to open his car door._

" _It helps to know where the police live," he says as way of explanation. He's so mysterious and attractive and unbelievably_ gorgeous _that I'm momentarily speechless as I sit in his car._

" _How did you know my stepdad is a police officer?"_

 _He glances over at me when I call him my stepdad, his eyes roaming my face and I think, maybe, he's a bit surprised that Charlie isn't my biological father. I hope he doesn't want to talk about my real dad, because that could make for a very sober and solemn car ride, but he doesn't._

 _He looks back towards the road as he pulls away from the small gathering in the dense park._

" _Talk of the town," he says simply._

 _I stare at the side of his face, trying not to appreciate his profile as much as I know that I am. I like his nose. It's perfectly straight, like it's been hand drawn._

" _Talk of the town?" I ask, because I'm confused as to what he means and why he said this._

 _He glances over at me and for a moment, the green of his eyes is a stark comparison to the blue lights illuminating off of his dashboard. I think it's unfair he can look this good in any lighting. I'm sure I look like a mess right now._

" _You're the only new girl we've had in at least two years," he says._

 _I make a noise in the back of my throat that is completely involuntary and completely true to how I feel, which is startled and mortified._

" _What kind of talk?" I ask._

 _His eyes flick over to me and the corner of his mouth twitches before he focuses on driving again. "Your name," he says. "Some guesses as to where you came from and why you're here."_

 _I want to ask, but I don't because I don't think I want to know the answer._

 _I look over at him because I suddenly am desperate to know where_ he _thought I came from, why_ he _thought I was here, but he talks again before I can ask._

" _Mostly from the guys," he says._

" _Why?" I ask. It's not like I'm interesting. It's not like my story is interesting…_

 _People move all the time for thousands of different reasons._

 _I see Edward shrug out of my periphery, but I'm caught up in wondering what everyone has been saying. I'll have to ask Alice. That's slightly less embarrassing._

" _Pretty girl moves to a small town."_

 _My head snaps towards him, unsure if I heard correctly, but I'm almost positive he just called me pretty. My head is swarming with a buzz, like I can't concentrate or think correctly._

 _I can see a hint of a smile on his face and it makes me think he meant to call me pretty, but then he adds, "Guys are gonna be all over that," and now I'm wondering what he means by 'all over that' but I don't want to ask because I'm scared of the answer._

 _He stops the car and I realize with a start that we are already at my house._

 _The front light is on, as is the light in the living room. Charlie's cruiser sits in the driveway like an omen._

 _Edward leans his elbow on the arm rest between our seats and his face is closer to mine. If I reached just in front of me, I'm sure I could touch a lock of the unruly copper-colored hair that sits in a mess on his head._

" _I guess it's harder when her dad's a cop," he says quietly, his eyes trained on my face. He's not looking at any part in particular, more so roaming as though he's trying to memorize._

" _Her?" I ask, and my voice is barely above a whisper because I feel too light, too warm to give it my full volume._

 _The corner of Edward's mouth pulls up. His emerald eyes settle on mine and there's something about them. They're blazing, almost; like they hold their own light._

" _The pretty girl," he says and then the corner pulls up higher, "You."_


	48. Red

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

The eye of a policeman must be keen to scrutiny because the second I enter the house, Charlie glances at the red marks across my wrist, and I can see the question on the tip of his tongue.

"It's not from him," I state simply, throwing my bag onto the table.

"Who's _him_?" he asks and I glance over at him, because he _knows_ who 'him' is.

"If you're trying to tell me that someone did this to your wrist, I'm going to need a name and social security information," he says and I think it's supposed to be a joke, but I know it's not. His tone says it's not. "And if you're trying to tell me Edward didn't do this, that's not who I was thinking would do this," he adds.

His finger taps along the belt of his jeans at an agitated rate and I know he's fighting his man-of-the-law disposition to slap cuffs on anyone who engages in domestic violence.

"I tried to slap him," I say because, for some reason, I think it needs to be said.

He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter," he insists.

Then he looks at me, and the worry lines make me remember just what he's been through over the past few months. Not just with being shot, but with me and Edward as well.

"Who did you try to slap?"

"Why do you think it wasn't Edward?" I ask instead because, honestly, I'm confused too. _Edward's_ the one with anger issues, so why is it the one I date _without_ anger issues that's hurt me?

"Because," Charlie says, and I think he's gonna leave it there, but he continues after a while. "I've known that kid longer than you. Yeah, he gets in fights and yeah, I've had to turn an eye a couple of times to keep him out of juvie, but that kid would never lay a hand on you."

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything.

"I've never been unsure about you dating that kid," he says. "Ever."

I look away from his scrutinizing eyes.

"It was Mike," I say, changing the subject quickly because I don't want to fall down this hole right now. I want to be blank; I want to forget everything that happened today.

Charlie's eyes are drilling a hole in the side of my head, but still I don't look up at him.

"That son of a—" he cuts himself off. "You gonna press charges?" It's a question, but I can tell by the look on his face that he knows what answer he wants.

I shake my head anyway. "I think I antagonized him. Doesn't matter, I'm going to break up with him anyways." If the meaning isn't already clear enough.

Charlie seems a little surprised, and then suspicious and I know where his thoughts have gone.

"I was thinking about it before I went to visit," I say quietly, staring down at my hands, trying not to look at the red outline of fingers on my right wrist. I know they'll bruise in a couple of days.

"I just…" I sigh. "We wouldn't be happy together, in the long run." Especially _now_. And especially since we already live as though we have no idea what the other wants out of life.

"I'll take you to get your stuff," he says. "I'm not letting you go in alone."

I nod, because it's the only reaction he'd want out of me. He doesn't do the tears and emotional monologue bit.

"You gonna come back home for a while?" he asks, but I shake my head.

"I still have half a semester left. I'll stay with Rose if she'll let me, and pay out the rest of my half of the rent to Mike," I say.

Charlie shakes his head. "You should really make a report at least," he says, but he knows that I won't because I've already decided not to.

"It was just a weird day with weird circumstances. He's never acted violently towards me before. I'm just…" I sigh and run a hand through my hair. "I'm just going to move on," I say.

And I really, really hope that I can, in more ways than one.


	49. Breaking

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

Rosalie's place is quaint, but it's closer to the campus than mine, and her parents pay for her rent, so she tells me not to pay for anything. I ignore her anyways and pay for as much as I can.

It's been a few days since the visitation and the bruises on my wrist are gross and ugly and I'm wearing long sleeves just to keep the wandering eyes away.

Mike and I spoke a little when I gathered my things, and we both decided it wasn't going to work anyways. Our separation was easy, despite the holdup in the parking lot.

He tells me he hopes I find everything I need, and I tell him the same. I don't think either of us knows what that is, though.

Rosalie finds me in the kitchen in the afternoon and tells me that there's someone at the door for me. I'm confused, but she looks too excited so I can only imagine what this is about.

"If you know him, you'd better introduce me," she whispers into my ear as she practically jogs after me to the door.

She flips her hair and checks her tank top just before I pull open the door to her tiny condo, and Emmett stands on the steps, hands shoved deep in his jean pockets, his expression uncertain.

"Sorry," he says when I smile, but his eyes quickly sweep from me, to the leggy blonde beside me. She's already in high flirt mode.

"Rosalie, this is Emmett, Edward's older brother," I say, and her smile drops and she's giving him a pursed look instead.

"Oh," she says simply and then moves away from the door. I shake my head, but invite him in regardless.

It's my turn to apologize now. "She's never met Edward. She has her own opinion of him," I say.

Emmett smiles, but it's a bit sad. It breaks my heart.

"Doesn't everyone," he comments, and I can see the barely-eighteen, fresh-out-of-high-school kid who is trying to keep his family afloat I had met when I first started dating Edward.

"What's up?" I ask, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction, but there's only one reason he would be here.

He chews at the corner of his lip. "I would have called," he says, "but I thought it best to ask you in person."

I already know where this is going and I'm already backing away from him slowly.

"Emmett," I start, but he puts up a hand.

"I know you went through a lot last time, and I know Mike—"

"We broke up," I state and he looks a little surprised, and then understanding.

"Well," he sighs and the look that forms on his face makes me want to do anything that will help him out. With a burnout for a father and a mother who is in and out of their lives, Emmett is the only one trying to pick up the pieces.

"He won't even see Beth anymore," he says. He takes a breath and runs a hand over his face. He looks less like a twenty-three-year-old, and more like someone who's lived through war and back. "I don't know what to do."

"What can I do?" I ask, and it's not rhetorical, it's a literal question. "I don't think he'd want to see me anymore, either," I add, because the expression on his face when he requested to be put back in a cell has cemented itself into my memory.

Emmett drops his head to look at me with a questioning expression. "We both know that's not true," he says.

I bite my lips. "He's going to think I broke up with Mike for him."

"So, don't tell him you broke up with Mike," he says. "I just," he sighs and stares up at the ceiling before looking at me again. "I don't think you realize how much you did for that kid when you came into his life. Some of the shit you helped him through…"

He shakes his head like he's still in disbelief.

"You went through it, too, Emmett," I state, because I feel like he always forgets that he is a part of that family, too. It isn't just _Edward's_ dad that was emotionally and physically abusive; it isn't just _Edward's_ mom that walked out.

"Don't spend all your time trying to fix Edward and forget about yourself," I say, "He would hate himself if he knew you were doing that."

Emmett only nods and I know it's all I'm going to get from him. Both of them have grown up to think their problems are _not_ problems. They don't do well with sympathy or pity because they never got any from their parents.

"What am I even supposed to say if I go back?" I ask. What more can be said?

"I don't know," Emmett says, "but I'm at a complete loss here, Bella."

Because I can see that he's on the verge of breaking, I agree to visit again.


	50. Shell

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Sorry these updates are so late, it's been a long day! But here they are, so enjoy :)**

* * *

I stare through the glass window of the bright white room and feel like I'm living the same day over and over.

I can see the setup of chairs, a table on the side, the brick walls. I can feel the cold air from in here. I can feel the metal of the seat. I can feel the weight of Edward's gaze, heavy and intense and _sad_ on me, though he's not even in the room.

"Do you want me to go in with you?"

I glance over at Emmett, surprised to see the room filled. The guards make Emmett look small, which is hard to do. They've been here the whole time, but I feel like I'm the only one here.

Beth isn't here, which surprises me.

"He might not talk if I go in," Emmett warns, raising an eyebrow at me and I feel deflated.

My shoulders drop, as does my courage, my indifferent attitude that I had hoped to harbor throughout the day.

"Where's Beth?" I ask instead of answering, because I know the answer I _want_ to give and I know the answer I _should_ give. And I know the answer Emmett wants me to give.

"I told you," Emmett says. "He won't see her anymore."

"You said he won't talk to her," I say, alarmed at this new information. Has Edward been talking to anyone at all?

Emmett shrugs and looks over towards the guard who had led us back to this room. He's holding a manila envelope. It looks professional, serious. Like it could hold images from a crime scene, but I can see the lettering **E. Cullen** on the tab and I know it's his case file. I wonder why he has it, why he's brought it, and if it's something I'm supposed to look at.

I hope not.

"Edward's denied another therapist," the guard says. The tag on his black suit says _Correctional Department_ , and just below that, _Officer Toul_.

"He can do that?" I ask, and then feel overly naïve with the way the other guards look at me.

"After the initial first-month processing, the inmates can decide to give up the right to a counselor," Officer Toul states and then glances at his watch and I realize that this is nothing to him, this session, me being here, _Edward_ being here, our past…

None of it means anything to these guards because we're all just stories in manila envelopes locked away in filing cabinets.

All they know of Edward is his anger, his silence, his frustration. They haven't met the Edward I fell head over heels for, the Edward who put me above everything else.

But it doesn't matter because in here, in prison, the Edward I knew doesn't exist.

All that's left is a shell.


	51. Strawberry

**I do not own Twilight**

* * *

 _ **High School: Junior Year, October**_

" _You wanna ride?"_

 _I jump, startled by the velvet voice and turn quickly, my shoulder hitting the open door to my locker but I ignore the throbbing pain out of embarrassment. Edward's leaning against the locker next to me, his arms crossed, a smirk on his absurdly handsome face._

" _Oh," I say, my brow furrowing. "I drove to school."_

 _Edward thinks for a minute._

" _Do you wanna_ go for _a ride?" he rephrases and glances out of the glass door twenty feet from us. It's a beautiful October afternoon and, despite the fact that it's a Wednesday and my mom will probably kill me for going out instead of coming straight home, I grin._

 _We walk to his car in silence, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, but he stands close beside me. So close, his arm brushes mine every once in a while._

 _He stops at an older car, dark red. It looks like a sports car, or a car that would be used for drag racing. I glance up at him. I bet he's drag raced before._

" _What kind of car is this?" I ask as I pull on my seat-belt._

" _A Celica," he says._

" _Is it old?" If it is, it's been well taken care of._

" _Ninety-nine," he answers._

 _I pass my hand over the burgundy-colored, leather interior. It looks brand new._

 _Edward watches as he starts the car._

" _Is it yours?" I ask, because he's told me before that a lot of the cars are his dad's. They just sit in the driveway, so he lets his sons use them once in a while._

" _Technically," he says and I glance over at him, curious._

" _Someone dropped it at the shop. They traded my dad for a truck." He shrugs, "I redid the interior and painted, so yeah. Technically, it's mine."_

 _His jaw clenches once when he says this and I wonder if his dad agrees._ I _agree._

" _Well, you did a great job," I say. "I love it."_

 _He smiles over at me and the tension in his jaw is gone, but now there's a different tension in the air as we smile at each other. After a while, his smile dips and he bites his bottom lip._

" _What do you want, Bella?" he asks abruptly, too seriously to be casual and I have a feeling he means something more than the simple words._

 _But because I'm an idiot who falls into the trap of his eyes, I blurt out, "Ice cream," because I'm afraid he's asking if I want to go to the Alcove to make out in his car and then go home like Alice told me he_ wouldn't _do. It's not like I_ don't _want to make out with him in his car, because I really, really do, but I don't want it to be a one and done thing like Alice said it would be after I told her that he took me to look at stars a week ago._

 _And then I watch with hidden horror as his eyes widen and he bursts into a laugh._

" _Okay," he laughs. "Ice cream it is, pretty girl."_

 _I think my heart stops and then picks up double time._

 _The ice cream stand is busy for an October afternoon, but it's only the first week of October and it's still warm out and the sun is blistering, reflecting off of the pavement. I abandoned my cardigan in his car, donned in just a simple blouse and Edward keeps looking at my bare shoulders, the dip in between my collarbones._

 _I'm self-conscious, but more so just conscious that he's looking at me at all._

 _I get strawberry and he gets vanilla and when I'm not looking, he sneaks a spoonful of mine._

" _Hey!" I protest, even though he paid for both despite my objection. He laughs and then puts a spoonful of his on top of mine._

 _It's a good combination._

 _We talk about nothing in particular as we eat in his car, burning up in the hot parking lot, but I hardly notice the heat from the sun with the heat of Edward so close to me. I laugh at his memories of him and Emmett in their childhood, and he laughs at the stories of my mom's boyfriends before Charlie. He watches me with an intensity and curiosity that surprises me when I tell him about my mundane life in Connecticut, and then Maryland, and then California, and then Arizona, before coming up to Washington._

" _So, you're an East Coast girl," he comments with a lazy smile. It's lopsided, one side higher than the other._

" _I guess I'm an all-around girl," I say and then immediately sputter when his eyebrows shoot up because I know what that can mean and that is most definitely_ not _what I meant._

" _That's not what I meant," I stutter, but he's already laughing._

 _He reaches out for my empty cup, his fingers brushing against mine and a spark shoots through my hand._

" _Don't worry," he says, "I didn't think you were like that."_

 _The way he drives fascinates me. It's so casual, like he could do this for hours, his elbow resting on the console, his left hand on top of the wheel in an easy grip. It's hard not to study his muscular arms, the flatness to his hard stomach, the way his chest moves when he breathes. I think he catches me looking sometimes, but he doesn't say anything._

 _His dark green eyes flash over my face once in a while as we talk and he looks at my mouth—a lot. So much that, when he's distracted by making a left turn, I glance quickly in the side mirror to make sure I don't have any ice cream on my lips._

 _I don't._

 _He pulls onto my street and I point towards the side of the road._

" _You should pull over here," I say. He does so, a small question in his eyes because where we are has a blocked view of my house, the large trees running alongside the road, but it's better this way for both his and my mom's sake._

 _And mine._

 _I lean over to unbuckle while he's inclined towards the center console, his weight on his elbow, his green eyes brilliant in contrast to the surrounding green and on my face._

" _Thanks for the ice cream," I say._

" _You're welcome, Bella," he says._

 _I'm about to say, "and for the ride," but he cuts me off, his hands coming up to cup my jaw and I know what he's going to do the second before he does it. I'm pretty sure my eyes are wide as saucers._

 _He kisses me fast, but it's deep and his lips are parted and he tastes like vanilla with a hint of strawberry and I'm certain it's the best thing I've ever tasted, but when the tip of his tongue touches my bottom lip, he pulls away abruptly, like he forgot what he was doing._

" _Shit," he breathes, moving back to his seat. His eyes are closed, but when they open and look at me, they are scorching._

" _Sorry," he says, but the concern in his voice, in his expression isn't because_ he _didn't want to kiss me, it's because he didn't know if_ I _wanted him to kiss me and I know I have to rectify right away or I'll lose my chance._

 _I unbuckle quickly, grab his shirt, and lean forward to press my lips back to his._

 _He doesn't make me wait long, or lean over the console long, because he's pushing back against me, his lips parting, his tongue dancing. I sigh against his mouth and hope that he doesn't notice this is my first kiss._

 _His fingers explore my jaw, my throat, my shoulders, running over the fabric of my blouse and when they dip along my rib-cage, I pull back panting because I'm not an all-around girl and I don't plan on starting today._

 _He's looking at me like he wants to continue, or do more, or take me inside, or_ something _, but I only smile sheepishly and press my lips back to his one last time before pulling away altogether._

" _I'll see you tomorrow?" I ask and he's still sitting there, a wild look to his eyes. I'm sad I didn't get to touch his hair._

 _He nods and then the corner of his mouth lifts and it's nearly blinding._

" _Tomorrow," he says._

 _Before I get further than five feet away from his car, I'm running back to the passenger side._

" _We left my car at school," I remind him as I get back in._

 _He's already kissing me before I can even buckle._


	52. Vacant

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

The metal chair is just as cold as I remembered.

The table is the same size, the room just as plain and windowless, the lighting just as fragmented and fluorescent as it had been the last time I was here.

The chill to the air remains, the feeling of stagnancy, of undeniable stillness. It's like the world in here is inert; time doesn't pass, it stops.

The only thing different is the man sitting across from me.

He's no longer desperate like the first time I visited, or argumentative like the last time I visited. He's not even numb anymore because that would be _something._

Instead, he sits here like he's been forced, like he's lost all sense of himself, like he's never even _met_ himself.

He's frozen in this prison, departed from his own mind.

I stare because I'm not believing this is the man I fell in love with.

Physically he is, of course he is. He's just as gorgeous, just as haunted, just as striking as always, but the fire in his emerald eyes is gone. They don't even look like his eyes anymore.

But I wouldn't know, because he won't look at me.

Alone in this room, I'm beginning to think Emmett is wrong. Maybe I can't get him to talk; maybe this is it for us.

I don't know what to do with my hands, or my eyes, or my voice, so I sit still for a few more seconds before rearranging my position on the hard chair. His hands are under the table, mine are glued to each other.

I glance up towards the one-way mirror, seeing nothing but a reflection of myself, of the room, but I can feel Emmett watching me from his side and I know he's praying this works.

I clear my throat and sit up straighter, then lean my elbows on the table in between us. Edward doesn't move, or react to my movement.

"You don't want to talk to me, that's fine," I say eventually, keeping a close eye on his face for any sign of… _something_. There's nothing.

I wonder what he's looking at. His shoes, perhaps. The cement floor beneath his feet.

"But you shouldn't do this to Emmett."

I wait, but still, nothing.

"He's trying his hardest, Edward," I say.

He moves his head to the side slightly, still not looking at me, still indifferent, but my heart jumps because I don't know the extent of his unresponsiveness. _Was_ that a response? Or was that normal? Would Emmett think nothing of that movement? I wish I had told him to come in with me so I could see his reaction.

"Is there anyone you _would_ talk to?" I ask, grasping at straws. "Jake? Jasper? Your dad? Your mom?"

I'm guessing Emmett's already asked, because he doesn't even blink at the last two.

"I talked to Alice," I say, because I don't know what else _to_ say. Maybe I'll just talk at him; he always seemed to be amused when I would talk without thinking. He always seemed to like when I put my foot in my mouth.

"She forgave me for what happened." I wince, because I don't know if I should bring this back up, but I don't know what else _to_ bring up, because bringing up Mike is out of the question. "I think we're friends again."

No response.

I take a breath and glance down at the table myself, drawing a finger over an invisible pattern. "And she told me what Jasper said to you."

I've said it to pull a reaction, but I'm suddenly too nervous to look up at him even though, from my periphery, I can see his copper-haired head lift.

"And I can't stop thinking about it," I say, still staring at the table. It blurs beneath my vision.

I glance up at him and he's watching me silently, his green eyes slightly vacant like he's trying not to care, but I know him too well and I know that he does. He had fought me tooth and nail anytime I tried to get him to tell me what Jasper said. I don't think he wants to hear me say it.

"You told me that he was right, Edward." I have to blink a few times to focus on his face; the tears have only surfaced, not fallen.

"You said the only reason you hit him was because he was right." I shake my head, because I know he's not going to say a word.

"Did you honestly think that?" I ask. "Did you honestly think you were ruining my life?"

I bite my lip, irrationally angry with his silence, but his eyes are roaming my face and even though they are still emotionless, I think that maybe he's actually listening.

"Did you think that from the start?" I ask, wanting some sort of leeway to understanding. I can't help him if I don't understand, and I can't understand if he doesn't talk.

"When we first met, when we first started dating, did you think you were going to ruin my life?"

He blinks and then looks away from me dismissively and I can't take the silence anymore. I can't stand the sound of my own voice, my own questions, the heated pause between each one. I can't stand seeing him like this, because this isn't _him_.

He's passionate and angry and fiery and intense and he's none of that right now.

My shoulders slump forward and I feel like I'm falling in on myself because there's one more question that is swimming around in my head. The same question the guidance counselor had brought up, the same question I could feel in everyone's eyes after that summer day that I ended things with Edward.

"You didn't ruin my life," I say quietly, so quietly that I'm not even sure he can hear me.

"But," I finish, "I think I ruined yours."


	53. Ruthless

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Sorry it's taken me for _ever_ to update. I've been pretty busy lately, and so I haven't had much time to write and I'd rather spend a couple of days sans-update than give you a shitty, half-assed one. **

**Although, this is kind of a filler.**

 **I'm hoping to write more tomorrow, so I should have the next few chapters up by Friday.**

 **Thank you all for continuing with my story. It means the world to me :)**

* * *

 _ **College**_

 _Rosalie is judgmental and ruthless and tells it how it is, but does it in a way where you feel better about yourself in the end._

 _I think that's what drew me to her in the first place. I've never had a friend like that, or, really, anyone in my life like that. I'm always so used to walking on eggs shells and making sure I don't step on the wrong toes to really express my feelings. But, with Rosalie, I can._

 _Especially when she is drunk._

 _It's the tail end of our freshmen year of college, and finals are in full swing. Well, really, final_ projects. _Final exam period starts in two weeks._

 _Rose throws an arm in the air. Unfortunately, it's the same arm that is holding her drink and it all comes splashing from the glass as I quickly move my laptop away from the splash zone._

" _Another week gone!" she yells and then laughs, plopping back against the headrest I put on the floor of my dorm room. I glare over at her as the clear liquid spills on the floor._

" _Sorry," she giggles, but finally relaxes back with a grin._

" _Do you remember Tim?" she asks out of nowhere, taking another sip from her glass. Really, it's a gulp._

" _Yeah," I say, staring at the screen again, waiting for my grade to pop up out of nowhere._

 _Tim is the "guy of the month," as Rose refers to them._

" _Well, I'm done with him." She snorts out another peel of laughter. "Him—Tim," she rhymes and I roll my eyes as she collapses in on herself. Really, it's only seven o'clock on a Friday evening. She has community service early in the morning for her honors seminar._

 _She sighs and lies back._

" _Why can't I find a guy who is hot_ and _interesting?"_

 _I bite back the retort that it's because she goes for the easy ones at parties._

" _Like_ your _boyfriend!" she cries, pressing her hand over her chest and making a pouting face synonymous with cherishment. "Why haven't I met him yet?"_

 _I freeze, but thankfully she's too drunk to notice._

 _Edward's visited here before, but I've never wanted to introduce him to Rosalie. I know she would see through the guise just as quickly as she has seen through mine. Judgmental, ruthless, and tells-it-how-it-is Rose would come out, full swing, and I honestly don't know how Edward would react to such criticism._

" _Show me another picture!" she presses, putting down her drink and dropping her chin into her hands. The smirk on her face belies the light in her eyes._

 _I sigh, but fumble to reach for my cell phone which is on the bed behind me. There's a strange twisting in my stomach as I swipe through my camera roll, and I realize that I am subconsciously trying to pick a picture that show cases him how_ I _see him; not as the angry, bottled-up, battered teenager the world sees. It's stupid, really, because most pictures I have of him are with a smile on his face, or at the baseball field, or at another stupid party, but I know I'm searching his eyes in each one. Those brilliantly emerald eyes that can tell a million stories._

" _Fuck, come_ on _, Bella," she wails, impatient and finally I land on one that Alice had taken and sent to me from our Senior year—before she decided I was scum on the bottom of her shoe._

 _It's a simple one._

 _Standing behind me by the bonfire, his arms wrapped around my waist, his chin dropped and resting on my shoulder. The baseball cap he always wears pulled just far enough down his forehead that it doesn't hide his eyes; his bronze hair just long enough that it curls out around his ears and beneath the front of the cap. It is a similar length, now; he knows I like it this way, and_ he _likes when I have something to grab onto._

" _Hot as_ fuck _," Rosalie is saying by my ear as she looks over my shoulder. "Does he have any friends that look like that? Or a brother, maybe?"_

 _I laugh once, not daring to mention Emmett as I glance over the picture._

 _One side of his mouth is turned up and he's looking just past my head. I think he had found something Jacob had said funny. I can't remember right now, because all I can do is stare at the expression on his face._

 _And it's stupid, but I can already feel the tears tracking down my cheeks._

" _Oh, shit," Rose is saying, reaching over to pull a napkin from her small pile where her pizza crust lies. She hands it to me. "Sorry, girl. I didn't know it would upset you."_

" _You miss him?" she asks and the answer to that is obvious: yes. I always miss him. Even when he's_ with _me, I miss him. But it's something more; something more delicate and troublesome than loneliness._

 _I shrug with one shoulder and press the button on the side of my phone, staring until the image fades away into the black of the lock screen._

 _I wipe the back of my hand across my cheek, ignoring the outstretched napkin._

" _I don't know." I push out a puff of air between my lips. "It's just…sometimes I feel, like, maybe we aren't good for each other, you know?"_

 _Rosalie doesn't answer, but bites her bottom lip and I know she wants more information, but she knows if she pushes, I'll shut down. It's been like that for a while now._

 _His expression from the picture races through my mind and I know I'm going to be searching the rest of my pictures in my camera roll for the same expression. And I know that I will find it in every single one. It's a strange mix of happiness, jealousy, and fear. Like he's on the lookout for anyone who is going to offend me, anyone who is going to try to steal me away from him._

 _And fear that I will willingly go if they come._

 _It's an expression that keeps him on high alert and, I think, keeps him from true happiness. Keeps him from true happiness with_ me _._

 _Ruthless._

 _Rosalie is ruthless._

 _Should I be like that, too?_


	54. Guessing

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

Each silent second ticks by with the sound of the clock in the corner.

Edward doesn't respond to my assumption and in turn, I stay staring at the table. I can feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to break. If he won't speak, I won't look.

But I catch movement in my periphery and I glance up quickly, involuntarily, thinking he is standing to leave, but he's only leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his face buried in his hands.

I sit motionless, staring at the backs of his hands.

It's stupid, because they're just _hands,_ but they make me feel strange like I can remember the exact feeling of them in my own hands, on my body, in my hair. Like I know exactly where each tendon lies, where they lead, how long his fingers are against mine. My own hands feel numb with the memory and I press them together on my lap, waiting.

Eventually he lifts his head and his eyes meet mine and I think it's the first time he's looked at me, _actually_ looked at me, since the first time I visited him here.

"She told you to say that," is all he says.

I stare, confused.

"Who?" I ask.

He shakes his head.

"Beth?" I guess.

He looks at me again and his silence is a nonverbal yes.

"She thinks I ruined your life?" I ask.

He doesn't answer, but I can see it in his eyes. The sessions she's had with him alone consist of turning him against me, instead of the other way around. It must be how she's trying to get him to move on; to see a different side of me, but the knowledge has my next question burning like acid in my throat.

"Do _you_ think I ruined your life?"

He glances away from me for a second and I can see the last six months of our relationship all over again. His misunderstood anger, his misdirected attacks, his lack of communication. He was always angry, always on edge, and I would never know why because he wouldn't _speak_ to me.

He has always been good at this, the silence, but I am not.

I don't know if it's the sudden tears that have popped into my eyes, or the fact that I begin to berate him for not speaking to me, for keeping everything bottled up, for making me guess _again_ , but he leans forward, almost conspiratorially, his fingers clenching in frustration.

" _No_ ," he hisses, "I think you ruined _our_ life, the life we could have had together, the life we _would_ have had together. And I think you left because you were afraid of where we were heading."

I'm speechless for a moment because I haven't heard him speak this much in _years_ , much less air his frustrations and anger so readily, and I stare at him, frozen until the blood begins to pump through my veins.

"What are you talking about?" I demand. "What do you mean _where we were heading_?"

There's a spark flying across his eye and he's suddenly so animated, so _Edward_ , that I'm surprised Emmett hasn't come running to the room just to witness the moment.

"I told you I wanted to marry you, and you told me I was delusional," he says, his voice hot with contempt.

I scoff, because of course he only heard what he had _wanted_ to hear. Of course he replayed the conversation in his mind until it became bruised and crumpled, stretching into something else, some other meaning.

I know this is taking a horrid path because if Beth were here, she would have shut down this conversation ten minutes ago. She would have turned it in a different direction, one that I cannot find at the moment.

"I said you were delusional because you wanted to get married right out of high school," I rebuke.

Edward's response is so fast, so certain, so exasperated, that I know he means it from the bottom of his heart.

"How else was I supposed to keep you with me, Bella?" he demands.

He winces like my name on his tongue has left a bitter taste; it's like I've burned him and, with his words, him, me.

We stare at each other, confused eyes on bitter ones and I sigh.

"This is about your mom, isn't it?" I ask softly. I'm not sure if it's my question or the tone of my voice that makes his face crack just a bit. He looks away from me quickly, his brow furrowed, his gaze trained again on the floor.

"Right after your mom left, you wouldn't let me out of your sight," I say, my voice still quiet because I'm not trying to attack. I'm trying to understand. I'm trying my hardest to understand, because lord knows he won't tell me to my face. With Edward, it's always a guessing game. The only thing I never had to guess at was how much he loved me, how much he needed me.

But _for_ Edward, it is always a guessing game. Because of his childhood, because of his dad, his mom, he _always_ had to guess and I think he always greatly underestimated how much I loved _him_ , how much I needed _him_ , and he overcompensated that guessing with overbearing nearness, with a mind and body that was ready to fight on a moment's notice.

"You thought I was going to leave you like your mom left," I finish and my voice breaks.

He answers so quietly that I almost miss what he says, but the words will ring in my ears for the rest of my life.

"And you did," he says.


	55. Focus

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

 ** _High School: Senior Year_**

 _Edward's home life issues travel with him to school and I'm constantly worried he won't keep up with baseball enough to keep the scholarship he was awarded._

 _He can play for Montana with a full ride, so long as he finishes out his last season in high school._

 _But I don't know how well that will work out when he keeps missing practices._

 _Jasper motions towards the parking lot when I glance over at him suspiciously. He's in the dug-out with a few other players, but Edward is nowhere to be seen. Of course, Jasper had to first make sure Alice wasn't watching before he gave me any pointers as to where Edward was._

 _Jasper may not hate me, but Alice still does._

 _I send him a quick grateful smile and grab my bag, high tailing it across the field towards the still-full parking lot._

 _There's only two weeks left of class for Seniors, and everyone seems to be staying late these days._

 _I spot him from a hundred yards away, leaning against his car, dressed in full baseball uniform._

 _He's smoking when I reach him and I grab the small joint from his fingers before he can stop me and toss it to the ground, stubbing it out quickly. I know it's a waste and anyone watching would be mad, but this is not_ him _._

 _The Edward I know doesn't skip baseball practice to get high in the parking lot._

 _The Edward I know doesn't glare at me from beneath the lowered brim of his baseball cap._

" _Why aren't you at pract—"_

" _What were you doing with Eric?" he cuts me off and I'm left reeling._

" _What? When? What are you talking about?" I ask, but I'm already running through every scenario in my mind. Honestly, I can't remember if I was with Eric or what we were doing, but if Edward is bringing it up, then it is something he saw._

" _Yesterday, after lunch," he says, and I can see how angry he is by the way the corners of his eyes crease. It's just one of his tells._

 _I shake my head, at a loss for words and then shrug. "I don't know," I say, my own anger quickening._

" _You were at his locker," he reminds me, his voice as harsh as his expression._

 _I think hard, not looking away from him because I know he'll think I'm lying even though I'm not._

" _We have to present together next week," I say. "I was asking him if he had finished his poster."_

 _Edward thinks for a minute, before crossing his arms. He's taller than me and, with the way he is standing, he towers over me. I'm completely immersed in his shadow and I know that if I don't get through to him, I'll be immersed in his skepticism._

" _What class?" he demands and I scoff, moving to step around him because this is just_ ridiculous _and, though I know where this is stemming from, it doesn't seem fair that I have to explain my every move to him._

 _He's following me, an angry curse flowing from his lips, but I'm already at my car._

" _Go to practice, Edward," I say, and quickly get inside my car, locking the doors for added emphasis._

 _He won't treat me like this. He doesn't get to think I'm doing something wrong. He doesn't get to think that I can't talk to anyone else._

 _When he shows up at my house later that night, I roll my eyes but move off of my bed to slide open my window. The tree he climbs to get up here has seen better days and I'm always worried that if crouches on the branch long enough, it will snap beneath his feet._

 _It's late, so he's quiet, but so am I._

 _He doesn't look like he knows what to say, but he's still in his uniform and, when he pulls off his cap, I see the beginnings of a black eye. I suck in a breath._

" _I got hit with the ball," he says quietly, not looking at me, but I'm not sure if I believe him._

 _Why can he lie to me, but I have to tell him everything I'm doing, everyone I'm talking to?_

 _I'm scared to see what Eric looks like tomorrow, but for right now, I decide to believe his story._

" _How?" I ask, because Edward's always had a great eye for that small red and white stitched ball._

 _He shrugs and then moves to sit on the edge of my bed. He drops his face to his hands and rubs his eyes like he's suddenly exhausted._

" _Lost focus, I guess," he says and then glances up at me._

 _The anxiety in his emerald eyes is contagious._

" _I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice catching with real grief, real apology, and I'm already moving towards him, letting him reach out and pull me down to him._

 _In the muted darkness, I let his fingers pull at my night shirt, my legs falling to either side of his hips while he whispers apologies and words of sorrow, of love against my skin. His thumbs move simultaneously across my breasts, my already trembling desire, and I am lost and found at the same time._

 _I forgive him with my body._


	56. Bottleneck

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

Edward is refusing to look at me again and I rub my hands over my face, knowing this is going nowhere very quickly.

"Look," I say quietly, "It wasn't some spur-of-the-moment decision, okay? I didn't want to break up, Edward—believe me. I tried my _hardest_ to make us work towards the end. I tried to be mindful of who I talked to and why I talked to them, and what I said to them. I tried to…submit to what you needed, but it became too much. Do you know how hard it is to try to keep friends that you can't talk to?"

"I never said you couldn't talk to people," Edward says through his teeth. He's still staring at the table. "I never asked you to give up friendships."

"Not explicitly, no," I agree. "But anyone I talked to caused an argument. If you saw me with another guy, if another guy even _looked_ at me, you assumed the worst. You didn't trust me, and that was nerve-wracking."

"I trusted you," he says quickly, looking over at me and I think I've hit a nerve. "It was _them_ I didn't trust."

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, pushing it over my shoulder. "Then you didn't trust me to tell them I had a boyfriend," I resolve. "So, you didn't trust _me_."

He opens his mouth to say something, to refute, but I know I have him cornered.

"I trusted you," is all his says, his voice quiet.

"You were jealous," I snap.

He doesn't answer.

"And controlling," I add. "And possessive."

My tone's lost its anger as I speak because he's looking at me with those eyes he always looks at me with; the ones that he saves for groveling. For when he begs me for forgiveness.

"I never meant to be," he says quietly, sadly. "There was just something about you that made me want to possess you. I felt like I needed to control you."

"But why?" I ask, slightly beside myself. "Why did you feel that way? Did you not think I loved you enough? Did you think you didn't mean as much to mean as I meant you?" I let out a breath, but it's slightly choked with tears. "I'm trying to understand, Edward."

He closes his eyes and presses his fingers to his temples and jaw, massaging them as though this conversation alone is making him ill.

"You were the one good thing in my life," he explains after a few seconds of silence, of me watching him try to piece his world together. "I didn't know how else to keep you."

I look up at the tiled ceiling, hoping that this small movement will keep the tears at bay, but it doesn't work.

He stills after a moment and looks at me. I can see his tongue darting out slowly, wetting his bottom lip.

"That night…that party," he starts and though he pauses to collect his thoughts I already know which party he's talking about, which night he's talking about.

"I don't even think he meant it," he says. "I could see it in his eyes as soon as he said it. It was a reaction to what I said to Alice, to how I hurt Alice, and I think he wanted to hurt me in turn."

My stomach drops because I know I should tell him that Alice never actually said what he thinks she did. But if I tell him that, I have to tell him the reason _why_ I told him she didn't want to stay friends. I have to tell him about the contrasting list that my mom made me write, and I really don't want to do that.

Edward lets out a short laugh. There's no amusement to it, though, and the sound pains me.

"He didn't expect me to react so quickly. I don't think he expected me to hit him, but the truth is, I wanted to hurt _him_ as badly as he had hurt me, all because I believed what he said with every fiber in my body. There was no doubt in my mind that I was ruining your life—I _knew_ I was ruining your life. I knew you weren't happy, I knew I worried you. I knew I wasn't being fair with the way I was treating you, with the way I was constantly _on_ you…I was so afraid that if I didn't put myself into every aspect of your life, that you'd become bored with me, or us, or _fuck_ …" he trails off, the curse hanging in the air between us angrily, filled with endless sorrow and passion.

"I would never have become bored with you, Edward," I say and I think the tenderness in my voice shocks us both. His eyes snap to mine, uncertain and I know he's bearing his soul on the line for me, right here, right now. I don't think I've ever heard him describe his feelings like this. He's so used to bottling everything up.

Maybe in some way this _is_ working for him. Maybe he's learning he can't keep everything inside.

"I was going to break up with you that night," he says suddenly and my stomach sinks at the thought. I hadn't even known. There had never been a single sign, and I feel sick with this information.

"I was going to go home, sleep on it, and tell you the next morning that we shouldn't be together, that you'd be better off without me, but you told me to stay and I did. You let me hold you that night even though I had no right and then, in the morning, you woke up and looked at me." He shakes his head slightly, lost in the memory and I want to get lost with him.

"You smiled at me—you fucking _smiled_ ," he says, "and it was like you were telling me everything would be okay. _We_ would be okay, and I could taste it on your lips when I kissed you in the morning. I could taste your resolve, the fact that you were going to stick by me even if I was wrong and I had never in my _life_ felt that way before."

He blinks up at me and he almost looks surprised to see me watching, listening. It's like he had forgotten where he was, so lost in the memory of high school.

"That was the moment that I realized I needed to do everything I could to keep you. I couldn't let you go. I knew that if you left, I'd have nothing." He smiles, but it's sad, regretful, wounded. "Anyone that had even the slightest potential to persuade you away from me became the enemy."

I bite down on my bottom lip hard. So hard, I'm afraid I'll draw blood, but at least it would be some sort of counterbalance to the bleeding pain in my chest.

Edward's face relaxes, almost like he's made peace with his own words. Like he knows where his faults lie, and now it's time for me to find my own.

"Instead of securing you, I pushed you away," he says.


	57. Rum

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

 _ **High School: Junior Year, October**_

 _Becca Cheney moves across the room, red solo cup in hand, body maneuvering around other drunk, sweaty bodies to get to the adjacent room of Mike Warner's house._

 _Her eyes however have fallen on, and have yet to release, Edward and I can tell by the way she's tracking him that the interest spews from more than just infatuation._

 _Edward doesn't seem to notice from his spot on the arm of the couch, facing me as I lean against the far wall._

 _I jut my chin towards Ben Cheney's twin sister after she's turned away._

" _You had a thing with her?" I ask and I know it's only the mix of alcohol in my system that's making me brave enough to ask._

 _Edward glances up at me quickly, his green eyes catching, before following my gaze. She's halfway through the kitchen now, beelining for some girl that I've never seen before._

 _Edward grimaces._

" _Define 'thing'," he says, but suddenly I no longer want to know and I don't think I have a right to be upset because Edward and I aren't a 'thing', so, really, who's the one that should be asking this question?_

 _I tip my cup against my mouth, letting the bitter taste of the rum concoction wash down my throat. I'm proud I don't wince or gag this time. The more I drink, the less I taste the horridness of_ what _I'm drinking._

 _Charlie would_ not _be proud._

" _Did it end badly?" I ask over the cup. I go for nonchalance, but I don't think I've managed it well enough. I think I hit somewhere around jealous and unreasonably irritated._

 _He purses his lips, looking over me once._

" _Define 'bad'," he says._

 _My smile isn't completely forced._

" _We didn't date, if that's what you're asking," he adds and then grabs my cup from me to take a sip himself. I watch in a slight daze and he smirks when he hands it back._

" _What did you do then?" I ask and immediately regret it._

" _Just messed around one night," he says, but his tone is a bit reluctant, like he didn't necessarily want to tell me that, but I already know from Alice that Edward's done other things with other girls. A lot of other things with a lot of other girls._

 _I get it; he's irresistible._

"One _night?" I ask and he grins, standing slowly so that he towers over me. The lighting in the house is dim to coincide with the living room where most of the action is taking place. His shadow takes over my form, his brim low enough that it almost hides his eyes now._

 _I press back against the wall instinctively, sucking in a breath as he steps closer, and glance around. For what, I don't know. No one else is in this small corner of the house. There's a couple on the stairs above us, but they've been on each other for the past twenty minutes. I don't even think they know we are here._

" _Does it really matter how many nights?" he asks, reaching out towards me. One of his hands finds purchase on my waist while the other gently takes the cup from me. He finishes the remainder of the drink and moves in closer._

 _I can feel my heart beat against my chest and I'm almost positive he can, too. If not, then he can definitely feel the heat on my face when he leans in to run his nose along my jaw._

" _It was a while ago," he says, pressing his lips hotly to the bare skin just beneath my ear. I nearly melt into him, my knees buckling. "Do you want a play-by-play, or would you rather I kiss you?"_

 _His fingers dance up my ribcage and take hold of my jaw, turning my head slightly so he can kiss the side of my neck. I swallow back a moan. His lips press to my jaw, my cheek, the corner of my mouth._

" _So?" he whispers after a second, and I can taste the rum and coke in the air between us._

" _Hmm?" I manage to mumble out, and the sound is throaty, as is his rejoining chuckle before he's turning my face again, tilting me to fit his mouth over mine._

 _I can feel his lingering smile until it vanishes when I part my lips, opening for him. His tongue darts to mine, testing, teasing, stroking until he pulls back just slightly to suck my bottom lip into his mouth. My responding moan is embarrassing, but he seems to like it as he kisses me harder, parts his lips wider._

 _His hands travel from my face to the hem of my dark blue, sleeveless shirt and then quickly beneath the fabric, fingers gripping my waist, pulling me closer against him as he takes another step towards me._

 _We're trapped in a corner, but I don't think I ever want to move._

 _There's a voice in my head that sounds remarkably like my mother telling me to be a little more discreet._

 _I pull back slowly, my head hitting the wall with a soft thud and when I can finally open my eyes, he's already watching me._

 _His baseball hat. I forgot he was wearing it. The brim didn't even hit me once and I wonder if that's something he's practiced on Becca Cheney and then I realize that I don't actually care._

 _I lick my lips, tasting him, and he watches the movement before his mouth is on mine again._

 _When he pulls away I'm breathless and wanting more, so I know it's a good time to stop._

" _I should probably find Alice," I whisper as his hooded eyes move along my features. "She's probably wondering where I've gone."_

 _He agrees, but looks reluctant until he pulls off his cap and places it on my head, smiling at his handiwork. It almost feels like a possessive move, like he's calling dibs on me and I can't help but to grin up at him, pulling the brim down a bit like he usually wears it._

"' _Kay," he says and takes my hand._

 _I'm smiling the entire way back through the house._


	58. Us

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

"You weren't the only one to blame," I say after a few seconds of silence.

Edward's been studying an invisible line on the metal table and he glances up quickly.

"I stayed with you through everything. I wasn't strong enough to give you an ultimatum, and I think that's something that would have helped both of us."

His expression is suddenly tired.

"You broke up with me the summer before college," he says.

"And that lasted three days," I remind him. "I couldn't even stick with my own decisions and maybe they could have changed everything."

"I apologized," he says quickly, desperately.

"We had sex," I retort drily. "That was how we apologized—we fucked. We never _talked_ , Edward, and it killed us. An apology doesn't mean anything if it continues to happen."

He looks away from me towards the far wall, where the two-way mirror sits, objectifying, judging. I wonder if they have been watching the whole time, but of course they have. And of course Edward knows. He's not stupid.

He looks at me from the corner of his eye.

"Who's on the other side?" he asks.

"Besides the guards?"

He nods, his jaw clenched.

"Emmett," I say quietly.

"He made you come here." It's not a question, and it's not kindly spoken.

"He asked me to, yes," I say.

"You wouldn't have come back otherwise?" He's looking at me carefully, like he's not sure he wants the answer.

I shrug. I'd like to say no, but we both know that would be a lie.

"What are you trying to get out of this?" he asks after a while. He runs a hand through his hair. It's something he does when he's anxious, unsure. "Why do you keep coming back?"

Again, I shrug, but I can feel my bottom lip quivering. I don't know how I even have tears left to cry. I bite my lip to stop it, but he's noticed.

"Don't cry," he shakes his head, his voice soft. "Stop crying for me."

"How am I supposed to answer that, Edward?" I sit up straighter, willing the tears back. "I'm trying to help you. I'm trying to help _me_. I'm trying to help _us_."

I know as soon as I've said it that I can't take it back.

There's a spark that ignites in his emerald gaze. The sun is back, just as I've seen it hundreds of times before. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head, twisting and flipping my words around and around until they make sense to him, the way _he_ wants to hear him.

"Us?" he murmurs. He stares at me and the air between us crackles with friction. Suddenly he's in movement, hooking his legs around the table, sliding himself closer to the surface, closer to me, his hands gripping the edge like a lifeline.

He leans towards me and I don't know if I want to fall forward, or back, "There _is_ no _us_ , Bella. You made that clear a year and a half ago."

"I…I didn't mean it…like that." I'm at a loss for words because— _did_ I mean it like that? What _am_ I trying to get out of this? At first, it was just to help Edward, to join in his therapy sessions like I had been requested. I thought it would help him, but now there's no therapist. There's no one here to guide us through our individual pain, to understand each other's pain, so what _am_ I doing here?

"So, what _do_ you mean?" he demands, "because you say a lot of things you don't mean."

"What are you talking about?" I retort, crossing my arms.

"Have you forgotten all the times we've talked about the future? Of our plans after college? Of starting a family, traveling the world, growing old together? Or have you conveniently forgotten all of that, all of the promises we made?"

" _Promises_?" I hiss, my arms falling back to the table. I'm leaning forward now too, anger spiting my words, my actions. "They weren't _promises_ , they were the next steps if we lasted, Edward. _Everyone_ has plans—they're not set in stone."

He stares at me, his gaze heated, deadly and I can see a muscle twitching in his jaw. He'll break his teeth if he doesn't stop, I'm sure of it.

"Those plans…that future…" I take a breath, calming my nerves, my irritation, "it wouldn't have worked out. We wouldn't have been happy."

I've disarmed him. His shoulders drop heavily and he caves in on himself, protecting himself from my words, but his face is an open book of confusion, turmoil.

"You weren't happy?" he asks quietly.

"Not towards the end, no," I admit, though I thought it would have been obvious.

We're quiet for a little while, trapped in our own thoughts, our own miscommunication, our own pain.

"Were you?" I ask eventually, but my voice is so quiet I'm not completely sure he can hear me, but he does.

"Yes." The answer is committed.

"Don't lie to me," I whisper, my voice worn with exhaustion.

He pauses, thinks.

The air stills around us.

"I was happier with you than I've ever been without you."


	59. Time

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

The metal door behind us opens gently, but loudly and we both glance back, watching as one of the guards slips into the room. Another follows. It's the man with the folder, the chart of Edward's life, Officer Toul.

I'm confused as to why they've approached, but Edward only moves back in his chair and then stands. Whatever is happening, it's nothing new for him.

I look from Officer Toul to Edward and back.

"Time is up," Officer Toul says with a soft shrug. His tone is gentle and I wonder how long we've been in this room. It feels like it's been forever, and then not long enough.

I look up at Edward, glued to my own chair. He's standing by the table, ready to be re-cuffed and sent back to his cell. He stares at the ground and I don't know if he plans to say anything else before he goes, but I stand quickly before they can shuffle him away.

We're close now, closer than when we were sitting and he seems to lean back slightly, almost involuntarily. Protecting himself again, I think.

"I won't come back if you don't want me to," I say, my voice low and even because I don't want him to feel obligated to speak to me, especially if this is no longer at the request of a therapist.

His eyes snap to mine. He's so much taller than I remembered. I have to tilt my head slightly to catch his gaze, which is hesitant, cautious.

"I want you to," he says and though his voice is unwavering, his eyes are still careful. I wonder if he wants me back to fix _us_ , or simply because he won't talk to anyone else. I don't know which option I'm hoping for.

I nod and then wet my lips which have suddenly become so dry. "Talk to Emmett, please," I say, hoping it's one request he will adhere to. "He's desperate to help you."

His emerald eyes dance between mine until finally he nods—once, but it's enough. I can read the guilt on his face. I want to touch him; nothing big, nothing powerful, just a simple hand resting on an arm, but I refrain because I think I've already mixed more signals than I meant to today.

"I'll come back next week," I say instead and watch as his eyes light up just a hint. He looks away before I can react, and nods again.

"Cullen," Officer Toul says and I watch as Edward follows after them.

I hate that he knows the system so well now.


	60. Opinions

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

Emmett is looking at me like some sort of miracle worker when I exit the bright white room, but I feel like anything but.

I feel like a cheat. Like I've deceived everyone in the past few months. Edward, Mike, my mom, Emmett, me….

There's nothing obvious that makes me feel this way, although Emmett's raised eyebrows don't make me feel any better.

"Did you hear everything?" I ask, more like a sigh than an actual question.

He shakes his head. "But I think we were all in shock by how…alive he came."

"He was angry," I say. "And hurt." _By me_ , I don't add because I don't need to.

Emmett laughs once, but it's not humorous, more so excited by the day. "When isn't he," he says. "He hasn't spoken in two weeks, Bella. Fighting with him is better than silence."

I sigh when we get outside because I feel like I've been trapped in that building for days when it's really only been a few hours. I take in the air, stale with the cloud covering and lack of breeze, but fresh air nonetheless.

"Does he get to go outside?" I ask suddenly, blinking up at the hidden rays of sun.

"They get recreational time," Emmett says and he stares up towards the sky too, like it'll hold all of the answers we are looking for.

I think about the look of Edward's toned body, the way his forearms are defined with muscle and wonder if that's what he spends the majority of his time doing.

"Do you think he's made friends?" I ask and then feel a sudden stab of guilt that I have to ask Emmett these questions. Aren't I supposed to be making sure _Edward_ is well? Aren't I supposed to be asking _Edward_ these questions? But the reality is, he hasn't asked me about the outside life—but mostly because I don't think he wants to know.

"He doesn't come to the room with black eyes or bruised fists," Emmett says. "So, he hasn't made enemies."

A small smile plays at my lips and then I'm laughing because it's almost humorous that that's all we can ask of him—to not make enemies.

Emmett's laughing along with me and I think it's a cathartic release for both of us.

"I asked him to talk to you," I say after we've calmed down, standing by our cars in the parking lot. "I think he will the next time you visit."

Emmett looks at me and his baby blue eyes are soft, gentle in a smile. "Thank you," he says, "for everything."

"I'm doing it for all of us," I say, because I think that'll take the guilt off of him for asking me, the pain off of Edward for thinking I've only come because of Emmett, and the confusion off of me for wondering _why_ I came.

I play with the keys in my fingers for a moment before asking, "Has your dad visited?"

Emmett stares ahead of him, thinking and then shakes his head.

"He wants to, but…" he trails off and I nod, because I know he's only trying to protect Edward.

"How does he feel about it all?" I ask.

Emmett sighs. "He thinks Edward's wasting his life. And he still doesn't think he plays a part in any of this at all. The anger, the fighting…he's more blind than Edward, I think."

"Has he told anyone…about your dad? I mean, has any of his therapy sessions been about your dad?" I ask when Emmett's brow furrows. He doesn't like talking about his dad any more than Edward ever did—ever does.

"Yeah, I mean when his sessions with me first started, I made sure to bring it up. I know Beth focused on Edward and dad's relationship for a while, but you know how Edward is."

I nod, because I do know how he is, especially on this subject. He'd rather act as though it's not a subject at all.

"And what about your mom?" I ask.

Emmett shrugs, but I can see the hidden anger, the offense in his blue eyes. "Haven't heard from her," he says simply. "But they've talked about her, too."

I drop the subject because I know it's still raw.

"Why won't he see Beth anymore?" I ask.

Emmett side-eyes me before looking away. "She focused a _lot_ on your relationship with Edward. I don't think he liked hearing her…opinions of it."

I grit my teeth and swallow against the acid taste in the back of my throat. This is what I figured; she had poisoned Edward of me.

"Opinions?" I ask drily.

"Everyone has opinions," is all Emmett says, but it speaks volumes. She thought _I_ was the problem.

Maybe I am.

"I should probably get going," I say, motioning towards my car. "My mom's expecting me for dinner. She'll think I've driven off into a ditch somewhere if I'm back too late."

"You gonna come back?" he asks before I leave him.

I pause, glancing over at him. "You think I should?"

He rubs his hand over his forehead. I watch, wondering how many times he's visited, how many times Edward has sat across from him, silent and inattentive. I wonder how many times he's gone back and had to tell his father that Edward was a statue again, and I wonder how many times he's had to defend his little brother against his father's harsh words.

"You've probably figured this out already," he says, "but Edward is still head over heels for you." I suck in a breath because, even though I _had_ already guessed this—known it, really—it's so much different when someone says it out loud.

"I don't want you to feel obligated to him just because he's still in love with you. I know he's going to ask you to come back, beg you, but I'm afraid it's not going to help if you don't feel the same—and I'm not asking you to figure out if you still love him," Emmett says when my eyes widen. I feel like I'm choking on air and not just because _I_ am the one who asked _him_ if I should come back. "But I really need you to think about where you want this to go."

Suddenly, I'm less certain that he _hasn't_ heard everything we said in that white room.


	61. Floodgates

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Sorrrry it's been so long! Here's a couple of chapters to (hopefully) keep you happy.**

* * *

My mother stares at me from across the dining room table, her eyes tight, her mouth chewing slowly. I feel like she can read everything that happened today on my face like a book. And it's not a book she wants to read again.

She sighs and puts down her fork, abandoning her picked at salad. Her eyes are like interrogation lights.

"How was your day, honey?"

I chew quietly, thoughtfully, taking a sip of water before daring to answer. Charlie is sitting at the head of the table, but he's no more in charge of this conversation than I am.

"Good," I say. Is it a lie? I don't know.

"How was the…visit?" The slight purse in her lips tells me she's still against any sort of visitation. She's still betting on the restraining order.

I shrug, push around a tomato on my plate.

"Hard," I say. It's the truth, and I know my mom is not one for beating around the bush. Besides, she'd get her answers one way or another.

"What did you talk about?" I know she's not asking to be polite. There's a morbid curiosity about her tone. Like she's desperate to know, to be a fly on the wall.

I stare at her. "A lot," I say.

She sighs and I can suddenly see myself in her. The impatience, the need-to-know, the irritation. We've been mirror images of each other my whole life, though we butt heads on nearly every topic.

"Isabella, you are _not_ thinking of taking him back."

It's not a question, and coming from my mother, this _isn't_ a question. She knows what she wants to happen. She knows how she wants this story to play out. I wonder what she would think if I showed her my discolored wrist? I wonder who her favorite would be then?

I don't answer her statement because, for one, I don't know _how_ to answer. But also, because it's the question that everyone has been asking me, like it's some judgement that I need to make now, on the spot. Like there's no room for growth, no room for healing. It's black and white, a yes or no.

But life isn't that easy. If it was, there would be no purpose to the color gray.

I think about saying that to her, just to spite her, but I know it will inevitably end in one of our famous literature-is-a-waste-of-time-and-money arguments and I really don't need any more arguments in my life today.

" _Isab—"_ she starts, proving everything that I know about her right, but I slam down my glass, pushing my plate away from me, interrupting my name mid-syllable.

"What if I am?" I demand hotly and then in the same breath, "What if I'm _not_?"

She doesn't say anything.

"How does what _I_ do affect _you_? Why do I feel like I have to run _everything_ by you? Every decision I make, every person I talk to, every dollar I spend gets some sort of comment, some opinion that I never asked for!" I slap my hand against the table. "I'm an _adult_ , now. I don't even live at home anymore. Can't you respect my decisions and move on from them?"

My mother's mouth is tight, her lips pressed in irritation, her eyes narrowed in disbelief. "This has nothing to do with me—"

" _What do you mean this has nothing to do with you?_ " In the blindness of my anger, the infuriating tears welling, I barely notice Charlie trying to quell the situation. "This has _everything_ to do with you! I dated in college because _you_ told me to! I moved in with Mike because _you_ told me to!"

"I didn't _tell you_ —"

Anger is a curious emotion. It releases itself in a multitude of ways—tears, yelling, silence. But the way my mother looks right now, the way she is speaking in tones that are just barely over a whisper, has never before been in her vocabulary of anger—nor mine. She sounds defeated, like she's learning something knew, something horrible.

"Your mother didn't _make_ you do those things, Bella," Charlie states, but I can see the danger warring in his eyes. He doesn't know who to stand for. With anything Edward, it's always been _me_. But having to choose between my anger, and my mother's?

"Maybe not outright, no!" I yell, glancing between my mother and Charlie. "But words sink in, you know. Those _subtle_ hints that weren't so subtle? They kept me up at night, _mom_."

"Like what?" she asks, her voice and chin trembling slightly and I'm resistant to seeing her cry; resistant to feeling badly for her.

I scoff, putting up my hand to count off each topic that has drilled into my head; the ones I took without fight, because it was easier.

" _Edward_ ," I say, "Anything about Edward. Anything bad. Even when his mom left—she _left_ a seventeen-year-old to fend for himself, you couldn't find a nice thing to say about him." I add another finger. "College," I continue. "Do you know how hard it is to try to be happy in a field that I'm supposed to love when it's constantly being torn down by my own mother? You preach being happy with yourself and loving what you do, but you can't fucking respect it, can you?"

Her mouth falls open at the curse. I never curse around my mom—I never curse in general, but it seemed a necessary evil.

"Mike," I say, ignoring any retort she would have. "You pushed me and _pushed_ me to start dating. You didn't want me to have time to catch myself. You didn't want me to have time to heal because you were afraid I'd go back to Edward, like he was some end-all-be-all for me. And you know what the first thing I thought of when I met Mike was?" I stare at her, her appearance blurry through the tears, though my voice, surprisingly, is strong. "' _Mom will be happy_.' Do you _know_ how fucked up that is?!"

I hear her teeth click together, though at this point, whether it's out of anger or hurt, I'm not sure.

"And no, _mom_. I don't like visiting my ex-boyfriend in prison, but I'm afraid of what will happen to him if I _don't_ visit—and I'm afraid of what will happen to _me_. Do you have any idea how it feels to stare into the empty eyes of someone you've loved with every part of you? Do you know what it's like to be told that you were all they had, and then have to deal with the fact that you left them anyways?!"

My voice breaks on the last word, and the torrent of tears is unstoppable.

It's worse even, I think, than the very first time I visited, when I cried in front of Charlie afterwards.

But, even though I can hear and feel my mom hushing me, stroking my hair against my agonizing sorrow, the words ring true in my ears.

It's like the floodgates have opened, releasing all of my regrets with them.


	62. Declination

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

 _ **High School: Senior Year, Second Semester**_

" _Can she DO this?!" I screech, staring at Charlie, short paper in my clenched fist. "Isn't going through someone else's mail ILLEGAL?!"_

 _Clearly caught between a rock and a hard place—and with my mother not here, all of my anger is directed at, and demanded of, Charlie._

 _He looks over the copy of the rejection letter from one of the school's I had been hoping to go to. But not a rejection from the_ school. _No, it's stating that I apparently_ rejected _the school's offer of acceptance._

 _I can hardly understand what I am reading right now, mainly because I hadn't even_ known _I had been accepted to the school in the first place._

" _How many others has she been hiding?" I demand, but Charlie looks just as dumbfounded as I feel._

" _She just doesn't want you to move too far away," Charlie tries to explain. Really, to cover for my mother, but I know better._

 _It's not the distance, it's the degree that I was accepted under._

 _I start to mindlessly sort through the other letters I had found underneath my mom's bed half an hour ago while I was searching for the cord to the laptop. They were in a neat stack, all opened, all acceptance letters with either adjoining declination or follow-up letters stating that I had past the accepting admission date and so, unfortunately, I could no longer attend._

 _I'm fuming as I pile them together, shoving them under my arm and stomping to the door._

" _Where are you going?" Charlie asks, but his voice is small. He knows he has no real authority over me right now; he's not in the right._

" _Out," I snap, slamming the front door behind me, and then my car door after that._

 _I barely make it to the off-road path that all horny, sad, mad, or gleeful teenagers park at before I'm holding back the tears, staring at the pile of letters in my lap. Thankfully, I'm the only one here—but then again, it's only just past noon on a Sunday._

 _The schools shout at me from the envelopes, each one huge and then accompanied by a smaller "we're sorry to hear you have decided not to attend, best of luck at your school of choice" letter that symbolizes another stab into my future._

 _It's no wonder I haven't received any of my letters—my mother has been hiding them from me._

 _I'm too lost in my own desolation to hear another car approach, too miserable and beyond hurt to see him walk up to my car, but he knocks twice on the window, softly as though not to scare me and I'm leaning over the console to push open the passenger door for him._

 _He smells like mint and lavender when he pulls me into his arms, letting the letters fall to the floor between us. He pulls his fingers through my hair, soothing me as I rest my head against his shoulder, staring into the dull woods across from us. I can't even bring myself to cry. I'm too hurt._

" _It's okay," he whispers and I pull back, glaring at each envelope as I pick them up hastily._

" _It's not okay," I hiss. "She's trying to control my life. Why would she do this to me?"_

 _I look up and he's watching me with careful eyes, the green illuminating his sorrow for me, but I know he doesn't want to say anything that will upset me further._

 _I sigh. "How did you know I was out here?"_

" _Your dad told me you left. I figured it was either here, or the beach."_

 _Despite myself, I smile a little._

 _His eyes soften and he takes my face in his hands, kissing me gently._

" _How many schools?" he asks after a moment, once I've calmed down._

 _I sigh, pulling the pile onto my lap, sifting through them._

" _UCLA acceptance," I toss it to the floor and pick up the smaller one directly beneath it. "UCLA admission declination," I wave it at him and then toss it. "University of Arizona acceptance—and declination. Brandeis acceptance, declination—oh, look. Stanford—it's a rejection letter. So nice of her to save me the disappointment."_

 _I rip that one in half, not wanting to look at a rejection letter any more than a declination letter._

 _Edward takes them all from me before I can continue on my bout and takes my wrists, pulling me to his lap. He wraps his arms around me and rests his forehead against my shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispers, because there's nothing else he can say._

 _I stare at the ceiling of my car, the tears falling freely from the corners of my eyes though I refuse to make a sound._

" _I mean, is she afraid I'll leave home and never come back?" I ask. "Would she rather I live in Forks for the rest of my life? Get pregnant at eighteen? Get married the year after that? Work as a maid in a nursing home for the rest of my life?"_

 _I know what I'm saying is messed up and unbelievably rude because it's not my mom's fault this is the kind of life she led. Not really. And I know Edward probably thinks I'm horrible for what I'm saying, but he lets me say it, wiping away the tears as they reach the bottom of my face and when I look down at him, he's watching me with such reverence, such affection that it makes my heart bleed._

" _I want more than that, Edward," I whisper._

" _I know," he answers._

" _I deserve more than that."_

" _I know," he repeats._

" _I want to be a journalist. I don't want to work a nothing job, trying to make ends meet."_

 _He kisses my chin, then the hollow at the base of my throat. "I know," he murmurs. "I'm going to read your name all over the country. I'm going to follow you all over the world. I'm going to cut out every single article you publish and tape them to my wall. And when there's too many, I'm going to dedicate a museum to them."_

 _I'm laughing by the time he's finished. He smiles against my skin, brushing his nose over my collarbones._

" _You're going to be okay, Bella," he says. "You'll go to school in Washington. It's a small setback to a larger than life future." He pulls away to look up at me, his eyes shining with fervor._

" _I'm going to make sure you get everything you want out of life."_

 _I kiss him, certain that I already have._


	63. Cloth

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Sorry I've been a bit MIA. This weekend has been pretty hectic with graduations and everything. I'm hoping to have a chance to write a bit later tonight, so hopefully I'll have a couple more updates for tonight and tomorrow.**

* * *

"I don't understand where all of this is coming from."

My mother pulls a wet clump of hair away from my eye, pushing it back behind my shoulder. Charlie left five minutes ago to his own great relief. He's not good with the whole feelings-crying bit.

"I thought you understood this was best for you. I thought you were over him."

"Are you over dad?" I snap, the words spewing like molten lava. The dam is down; there's no point to concealing the way I've felt for years. I can tell by her sharp intake of breath that I've crossed a line.

"Your father died, Isabella. That's a bit different than being sent to jail."

I pull away from her semi-embrace, letting myself lean towards the far end of the table. I glare at her, wishing she would just leave already. If she's not going to say anything to make me feel better, I'd rather not speak to her at all.

"Exactly," I hiss. "Dad _died_. You had no _choice_ but to move on." In the moment, the anger is too fresh, but I know I will be eternally grateful that Charlie is not around to hear this, because I know my mother loves him deeply, as I do.

"I _had_ a choice. And it's harder than you'd think," I say.

She stands and leans on the table, her hands splayed out on the surface, her head tilted down. She stares at imaginary figures in the woodwork for what feels like an eternity.

"It would have been easier if you had tried harder," she says finally.

I shake my head and stare at the ceiling because she just doesn't _get_ it. Things have always come easily to my mom, naturally. To her, the world _is_ black and white. There's no crossing, no fluidity. Everything is all or nothing, win or fail. There's no "try harder next time" because if you have _need_ a next time, you've already failed.

"What more could I have done, mom?" I demand, refusing to look anywhere but the ceiling. But she's still looking at the table, so it hardly matters anyway. "Do you know how hard it is to avoid someone who knows your entire life? Do you know how hard it was to not make contact all of those summers I came home from college?" I look down at the table now, too. "But I did it because I thought it would be better for him…better for me. Better for everyone."

I can see her head snapping to me, her eyes boring into the side of my head.

"Better for _him_?" she asks, confusion leaking through her tone.

"I don't understand, Bella," she says after a few seconds.

I sigh, not wanting to explain this again because I feel like it's beating a dead horse at this point. I've thought this to myself so often, spoken of this to Edward, to Alice, to Rosalie…

"He wasn't happy," I say shortly. "He put me above himself after his mom left."

"He controlled you," she says quickly.

I nod and sink lower into my chair, my cheek resting against the table. The surface is cold against my heated, wet skin.

"He was afraid I'd leave him like his mom," I say. It's exactly what he had said to me. "He didn't know how else to keep me other than to try and control what I do."

A sob chokes in my throat and I finally look up at my mom. Her eyes are deep and light in their coloring, her cheeks tinged with the slight frustration, exasperation. I imagine it's how I looked in that room with him. I imagine it's how I looked during our last year together. Frustrated. Exasperated. At a loss.

"I feel like everyone tries to control me," I whisper. "You with school, Edward with everything else. It's like I don't even know how to be myself, because I'm so used to looking out for everyone else. I'm so used to making sure whatever I'm doing isn't going to upset anyone else."

I think, maybe, I've gotten through to her a little because her brow furrows. It's a tell I've rarely seen, because she rarely admits to wrongdoing. In my childhood and teen years, she was the parent, I was the child. There was no middle ground, even when she was wrong.

She stares at me for another minute, watches the fresh tears form in my eyes before slumping into the dining room chair beside me, dropping her head in her hands.

"I'm such a terrible mother," she whispers more to herself than to me and I'm frozen with her words because I've _never_ heard her speak like this before. There's a part of me that wants to pat her on the hand, tell her that she isn't a terrible mother, but there's another part, a bigger part that tells me to stay quiet. There's something about her vulnerability that makes me feel resilient.

She grips her hair and, just as I'm about to try to say something—anything—to release the tense moment, she glances over at me. There are tears in her eyes now. "Is that really how you feel?" she asks sadly. I'm at a loss, no longer following the conversation.

"That you don't know who you are," she explains when I don't answer.

Again, I say nothing because it's better than the truth at this point. My mom shakes her head, her normally styled hair awry. She looks how I feel.

"Bella," she whispers softly, turning to look at me. I watch cautiously, knowing I'm easily swayed. "It's my job as a mother to teach you who you are. It's my job to help you find out who you are, and if you're telling me I've failed in that…" she trails off, her eyes watery. In this moment, she looks ten years older than she is.

"It wasn't just you," I say slowly, eventually. "It was…everything. I went through a lot, mom." My words are short. Fractioned.

"I know, baby, I know," she says quietly, quickly like she's trying her hardest not to dispose of this fact, and then, "Did I make it worse?"

"What?" I ask, my voice off kilter, strangled.

"Everything between you and Edward," she says. "Just you in general, did I make it worse for you?"

I suck in a breath because what am I supposed to say? That everything was bad for me? That my life was so screwed up in the last few months of high school that I can't pinpoint exactly _who_ to blame? That I'm becoming more and more afraid that I was the main culprit?

She sighs heavily, like the words are leaking from the depths of her. "When I apologized for declining your applications…I was being honest, Bella. It broke my heart to do what I did. It wasn't me. I was just…" she sighs again and it's a broken sound. "I was a heartbroken mother trying to keep her only child within reach. I was trying to keep you from the mistakes that I had made when I was your age."

"Like what?" I ask quietly. Her words stagger in my mind.

"Marrying before twenty," she says. "Staying with someone I wasn't sure I wanted to be with forever."

She smiles sadly at the shocked look on my face.

"Your dad was a great man, Bella, but I was settling with him." She laughs, a humorless sound. "It's kind of ridiculous to say you settled for a man when you were only nineteen, but it's the truth."

She shakes her head and looks towards the ceiling as though giving some sort of silent praise and I sit, staring at her, wide-eyed, discomforted. I don't know what to say, but I don't think she expects me to say anything.

"And I saw you and Edward going in the same direction and I just… I couldn't let that happen to you. Especially with how unhappy he made you towards the end." I look away quickly, not wanting to get back into that, but she continues, oblivious to my small reactions in her memory.

"So, I became what I never wanted to be—exactly what my mother was." She shakes her head, disgusted, looks at me incredulously, "When I was pregnant with you, I had promised myself I'd never be the way she was. Controlling, aggressive, thought she knew what was best for me. It's why I ran away with your father, I think."

Her eyes take on a strange gleam, like she's only just realizing the truth of her words as she speaks. "But you were a much better daughter than I had ever been. You put up with me. I suffocated you, but you never left."

She looks away from me and I'm left reeling from her heavy words, her lengthy explanations. In a sense, it makes sense, but I'm now terrified of treating any future children I have as she has dealt with me, and her mother, her.

"Edward and I are cut from the same cloth," she says suddenly. "We were both pulling you in opposite directions, but pulling no less. We thought we knew what was best for you, but…"

She glances at me, the look in her eyes nothing but sadly apologetic.

"We ruined you in the process," she says.


	64. Keys

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Sooner than I thought :)**

* * *

 _ **High School: Senior Year**_

" _What are you doing?"_

 _I look up into the mirror positioned on the wall of my bedroom where I've been standing for the past five minutes, my eyes meeting Edward's, our reflections exactly that of each other—reflections. We both have the same look about ourselves: wary._

 _His green eyes glow with curiosity and a hint of derision._

" _Picking out a skirt," I say, not yet daring to look back into the open drawer before me. I know if I look away from his gaze, he'll take it as defeat._

" _For what," he says, though he already knows and I can tell he doesn't like it._

 _I sigh and turn around, leaning against my bureau so I can look at him. Actually look at him. For once, he's not wearing a baseball cap, though his hair has grown so long that locks of it hang across his forehead, practically obscuring his eyes. The stubble across his jaw is more than just a day old, and I wonder how much longer we're going to keep doing this, this strange back and forth. A push and pull._

" _Jessica's pre-graduation party is tonight."_

 _His brow furrows, irritation clear on his otherwise beautiful face._

" _I know. I said I'm not going," he states. It has a second meaning though, one that I've become all too familiar with in the past two months._

 _If he's not going, neither should I._

 _I cross my arms and stare._

" _I want to go," I say._

 _He shakes his head, but the answer is already on the tip of my tongue._

"I _want to go."_

" _We'll find something else to do," he compromises, his voice becoming softer, but I don't_ want _to find something else to do. I want to go to Jessica's party where the rest of my friends—the small amount that I have left—will be. It may be the last time we see each other like this before finals ramp up. And then, in five days, we will no longer be high schoolers._

" _I'm going to the party," I say and then turn back to my bureau because, whether he likes it or not, I'm allowed to do things like this without him._

 _I hear the bed creak and I know he's walking to stand behind me, but I refuse to meet his eyes in the mirror. He leans against the light-yellow wall-papered wall and stares at the side of my face, arms crossed._

" _Eric's gonna be there," he says._

 _I shrug, ignoring the implication in his tone._ " _Okay? And so will Jackie, his_ girlfriend _."_

" _Jake will be there, too," he warns, ignoring my comment, but this time I stay silent, continuing to look through my clothing. It's relatively warm out for May, but I don't want to be too cold._

" _And Ben."_

 _I slam the drawer shut and turn on him. He doesn't look surprised or amused. His eyes only hold anger, disapproval._

" _And what, exactly, is wrong with Ben?" I demand. "What, did he_ look _at me? Is it because I let him borrow my history notes? Or because I sat next to him that one time at lunch?"_

 _His eyes are blazing and I can see the tendons standing out in his curled fists, pressed tightly to either side of his chest._

" _What about—Matt Stanley? Jess's brother will probably be there. I think he's back from college now. I bet he's inviting his friends, too." My tone is harsh, the words spewing from my lips as I step closer to him, not wanting to deal with this shit for at least_ one _night._

 _Edward's eyes are blazing with fury, his jaw clenched, but he only raises his chin in defiance. "Then you're definitely not going."_

" _Do you not_ trust _me, Edward?" I yell, my own anger barreling through my chest like fire. "Do you think I'm going to go home with the first guy I see? Do you think I'd cheat on you or something? Because that's what it sounds like."_

 _He's still not looking at me, but I can see the tension in his jaw. He spots something on my desk—my keys—and reaches over to take them before I have a chance to realize what he is doing._

" _You're not going," is all he says._

 _I make a grab for my keys, but he has them clenched in his fist again, his arms crossed too tightly for me to pry them apart._

" _Give me my fucking keys, Edward," I hiss, grabbing onto his forearm, but he refuses, only pulling away from me._

" _Give me my_ fucking _keys," I try again, but the words are masked by the tears and I can feel the hyperventilation just seconds away._

 _I'm about to do something else—make another pass for the keys, yell at him, cry at him—I'm not really sure_ what _I'm about to do, but he shoves my keys into his pocket and moves away towards the window, his muscles tense, his expression violent._

" _Fine," he counters between gritted teeth. "We'll go to the party."_

 _But it's not about the party anymore. Not really._

" _I don't want to go," I cry, and I can feel the heat building on my face as my tear ducts take on minds of their own. I don't think I could stop myself if I tried. It's embarrassing to have crying as your default response to anger. "Just give me the keys," I sob._

 _He looks lost, like he's not sure what to do. I can see the fight in him—comfort me, or stick to his guns, but guns seem to win out as pushes his hands into his pockets and leaves them there and even though I know he would never hurt me, I'm suddenly paralyzed with the weight of the situation._

" _I said I don't want to go," I whisper, staring at the curtains beside him because I really,_ really _don't want to look at him right now. "I won't go," I repeat, "so give me back my keys."_

" _You'll stay home tonight?" he asks, his voice balancing on the edge of relief and fury._

 _Still, I don't look at him, but nod my answer._

 _Finally, he drops my keys to my bed. They glisten against the lingering sunlight streaming through the window._

" _Bella," he starts, but now it's my turn to turn away from him because I don't want to hear the apology or explanation or lesson or whatever the fuck he's going to say._

" _Just go," I say to the wood of my bureau, sliding all of the drawers closed and kicking a pair of shoes back into my closet._

 _I hear him walk up to me this time, because he does so slowly, considerately. His fingers touch my cheek and I'm sure he can feel the stains of salty tears, but I pull my face out of his reach, glaring up at him. He looks sad, but not as sad as he will feel if he stays and I continue speaking to him. He needs to go or I'll say something I regret._

 _His expression contorts into some kind of pain before he masks it away._

" _I'll call you tonight, before you go to sleep," are his parting words before he's ducking out of my bedroom. I can hear him on the stairs, and then the closing of the front door before his engine sparks to life. I stand where I am, glaring at the set of keys, knowing he's only going to call to make sure I really haven't gone to the party._

 _I have half a mind to ignore the call when it comes, but I know I won't because I'm helpless and there's still a part of me that thinks that, in a few months when the pain of his mom leaving isn't as fresh, he'll be back to normal. He won't be so paranoid, so aggressive, and everything will be normal again._

 _Later that night, I'm sitting at the kitchen table, twirling uneaten spaghetti around on my fork when my mom comes home from work._

 _She looks at me funny, though I avoid her gaze._

" _I thought you were going to the Stanley's party tonight?" she asks._

" _I decided not to go," I say drily, not wanting to dig this up with my mother of all people. But, when I stand up to empty my plate, I catch her eye as she's opening the fridge. There's a look of perception, of concern._

 _But, above all, there's a look of disappointment._


	65. Opposites

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

The rest of the week passes in a blur, and not the good kind.

I feel like a pawn, the rest of the world moving and changing around me. Life goes on for the rest. My mother returns to work, her apology given and taken; Charlie returns to the station, booking and arresting as though the world depends on it. And maybe it does. Maybe jail has an important part in peoples' lives, including mine. It's made me rethink past relations, made me realize past mistakes.

Made me consider past events and how I've had a hand in them.

Jail, if nothing else, is humbling.

For me.

It still worries me—Edward's reluctance to speak to anyone but me, but I'm hoping my concluding words, to speak with his brother, have resonated with him. I'm hoping he'll break down that last wall, let his own brother in, the same brother that has been there for him his entire life. I know he doesn't want to, but I _want_ him to speak about his father, about his mother and how her absence affected him. And, most importantly, I want to help him through that, if he needs me to. If he wants me to.

Rosalie eyes me from across the room. She's curled on the couch, coffee in hand, watching me score my notes from the small kitchen table. Finals are impending…the last finals before college is over.

"So?" she says when I don't look at her.

"So what?" I ask nonchalantly, not bothering to look up.

She scoffs and I hear her switching her position.

"Isabella." Her voice picks up an octave, "You can't honestly believe I'm not going to demand an explanation. I mean, you come back with swollen, red eyes and under eye circles that are darker than a med student's. What _happened_?"

I put my pencil down and level my gaze at her. With her blonde hair pulled back, she looks five years younger.

"I got into a fight with my mom," I say.

"You always get into fights with your mom," she counters. She's heard plenty over the years we've been friends.

I shake my head. "A _real_ fight. I basically accused her of being a bad mom."

Rosalie raises her eyebrows, a look of pleasant surprise on her face. "Good."

"No, I…I feel bad," I say. A night away from my mom, sleeping on everything that happened, I woke up with a sudden bout of regret. Not exactly for what I said, just the way that I said it.

"Why do you feel bad?" Rose asks. "She deserves to know how you feel. _You_ deserve to _tell_ her how you feel." She sips her coffee and then places it on the side table. "How did she respond?"

"She argued at first, and then she just kind of…fell apart."

Rosalie's jaw drops and she stands, crossing the small room quickly until she's leaning against the chair across from me.

"Fell apart _how_?" she demands.

"She just…dropped her head into her hands and agreed she's been a bad mom." I sigh, pressing my fingers into my hair, staring down at my notes blindly. "She told me that her and Edward are the same. That they both tried to control me, and she was sorry for that." I glance up at Rose and she's watching me with piqued interest, concern. "She said they ruined me."

"Bullshit."

My eyes widen, shocked by the outburst. "That's what she said—"

"No, I mean they didn't _ruin_ you, Bella. If anything, they made you more resilient. I mean, think about it. You have normal friendships." She points to herself and I roll my eyes, but can't help but to smile. "You're graduating college, you know what you want out of life—kind of"—she grins—"and, most importantly, you took yourself out of a relationship that was not good for you."

"It took me _months_ , though," I retaliate. "I wasn't strong enough…"

She shakes her head, interrupts, "I'm not talking about Edward."

I swallow.

"You don't think I've seen the marks on your wrist?" She reaches across to grab my arm, though I pull it back. Long-sleeves have been my go-to as the bruise mars between black, blue, green, yellow. Her face softens, "You don't have to tell me what happened, but I'm proud of you for leaving him. I know it's not always easy."

I blink away a few tears, because what she's saying isn't necessarily true. It was _very_ easy to leave him. I never gave it a second thought, because he isn't worth it.

Mike isn't worth the back and forth, the pain, the heartache. Mike isn't worth second chances, and I don't think it's just because he physically hurt me.

"What's wrong?" Rose asks, her expression turning from proud to concerned. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"No," I croak. "It's not that…it's just…" I don't know how to explain it without backlash, without someone thinking I'm a fool.

I take a breath, steady myself. "He wasn't worth it," I say. "Mike wasn't worth it."

The concern turns to understanding, and then appraisal.

"But Edward is," she says. It's not a question, nor an opinion. From her mouth, it sounds like fact. Or perhaps to my ears, it sounds like fact. And I don't miss the fact that it isn't in past tense.

The tears spill over, but they're silent. They're hot; they sting more than just my face. As always, Rosalie doesn't react. She's tough; tougher than Charlie, even. She doesn't take kindly to self-pity.

I lick my dry lips, tasting a hint of the saltiness that brims over. A tear tracks down my throat, tickles me, but still I make no further sound. It's like they are inevitable, now. There. A part of me.

"Is it stupid…" I start and then stop, clearing my throat, chewing on my lip for a second while she patiently waits. "Is it stupid to feel that way, after everything?"

She smiles sadly. "Do _you_ think it's stupid to feel that way?"

I shrug, because I honestly don't know the answer to that. It _feels_ stupid…but there's a part of me that thinks I feel that way because I think I _should_ feel stupid and foolish.

As though she can read my mind, she reaches across the table and takes my hand. I glance up at her, sniffle. Her eyes are content, soft. Vulnerable, almost.

"Don't think about what _should_ be the correct answer. Sometimes what _is_ the answer and what _should_ be the answer are polar opposites." She lets go of my palm, pats the back of my hand once. "You just need to figure out which one you want to listen to. Which one you want to believe."

 _Black and white_ , I think. This is coming from someone who I thought saw the world as black and white.

It makes me purse my lips and wipe my tears as she turns away, her concluding words final. It's up to me, she's saying. It's up to me to decide. It surprises me, the fact that she's telling me the answer might not be obvious. That it could be in the gray world, rather than her yes-or-no world. Maybe I don't know the people I love as well as I thought.

I've been proven wrong many times over the past few days.


	66. Worth

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

 _ **High School: End of Junior Year**_

 _The cicada outside of my bedroom window are playing an off tune, off beat melody of a nearby start to summer, but I am certain my heart beat is louder than them._

 _I'm so certain of the fact, that I am terrified my mom and Charlie can hear my racing pulse from down the hall. Like it will transcend three walls and echo around their room, sending off an alert that I have a boy in my room and it is way past my curfew._

 _Edward's mouth is relentless on mine, his tongue velvet and soft along mine and I have to turn my head to break away from his torturous kissing to pull in a lungful of air. I swear, the boy can hold his breath for hours. Or, more likely, he is more skilled at kissing than I am, and so knows how to breath in between._

 _I am not as skilled and so my head is jutted up towards a source of air. It's warm and hot and sticky in my room, and I'm not entirely convinced it's just from the summer heat._

 _His lips move open, hot, and heavy across my chin, down my throat and a small sound of pleasure twirls in the air between us, released from my lips._

" _Edward," I manage to gasp out and he hums against the skin of my throat, thinking I am moaning his name in ecstasy—which, really, is not too far off base._

 _But I'm calling to him in warning, out of fear._

" _Charlie will kill you if he hears us in here," I moan, but it's ironic that I am saying this to him because I am the one being dramatically loud._

" _Let him," Edward mumbles against my jaw. His fingers move from my waist to grasp my chin and turn my face back to his, "I'll die happy."_

 _I'm kissing him back feverishly until his hand travels up my tank top and the back of one of his fingers brushes just beneath my breast. My already staggered breathing hitches and he takes a hint, moving to cover my full breast with his hand. I marvel at how I seem to fit perfectly within his palm._

 _Just days before, I had been comparing my chest to the well-developed ones of Jessica Stanley and Lauren Mallory and had been bereft with the results._

 _I am not tiny like Alice, as she had hotly pointed out when I aired my concerns, but I am not like the cheerleaders._

 _Nevertheless, Edward seems to enjoy my body despite the fact that he has probably had handfuls of larger breasts, and he sweeps a finger across my budding peak._

 _I pull back from his mouth, blinking up at him in a haze of desire and he's already watching me. His normally emerald eyes are a darker jade, slightly hooded with his own burning desire that I can feel pressing into me just beneath the sheets._

 _The pad of his thumb brushes over my covered, sensitive peak again as he stares down at me and my eyelids flutter, though I fight to keep them open. There's a hunger in his expression that scares and excites me, and I can't look away._

 _He draws his hand back down towards my waist and then is slipping his hand beneath my tank top, running his palm and fingertips quickly over the hot skin of my stomach back up to my breast and the whimper that escapes my throat embarrasses me. But he is already bending down to me again, fitting his mouth perfectly over mine as he lets his fingertips strum and dance and caress my breast._

 _My legs, which are on either side of his hips, fall open a little further on their own accord as heat travels up and down my body, landing hot-white between my thighs. He falls into me a little more, and I can feel him just_ there _, just where I want him._

 _I move towards him, arching into his hand, tilting my hips up to meet his and it's ecstasy. Complete and utter ecstasy._

 _I'm just starting to wonder how good it will feel when we finally go all the way, especially if these small touches feel_ this _good, when he moans long and low in this throat, pressing back against me. He's hard and large and long and I know that if he wasn't in his shorts and I was not in my underwear, he would be sliding inside of me. So easily, so quickly, so_ fully _, and it terrifies me._

 _He's already rolling away from me before I even have time to tense up, moving to lie on his side next to me as I freeze where I am, my eyes wide and on the ceiling._

 _He doesn't say anything, or make any further moves, but I can feel his eyes on me._

 _Finally, I release the air that was stagnant in my lungs and close my eyes, letting the rushing desire, the startling fear, the ever-present anxiety wither from the center of my body out through my fingers and toes._

 _After a few seconds, I turn my head to glance over at him and the beauty in his face, behind his still-dark eyes takes my breath away._

" _Are you okay?" he asks softly, but there's no judgement behind the question, no underlying concern. He only wants to know if, in this moment, I am all right._

 _And I am._

 _I smile at him and then bite my lip because I know I am probably being unreasonable. Alice had sex with Jasper after a month. The other girls I've heard talking about sex went all the way in even less time. I've made him wait_ months _and for what? Because my mother brainwashed me into thinking sex is the end-all?_

 _I can already feel my bottom lip trembling slightly and Edward's eyes are running over my face, his fingers moving to brush through my hair._

" _What's wrong?" he asks gently, but even his caring tone makes me feel horrible._

" _I'm sorry," I croak and try to keep the tears at bay._

 _He isn't having it._

 _He leans up on his elbow, reaching out to cup my face gently in his hands, his thumbs tracing first my cheekbones, then my lips._

" _Bella," he's whispering, the emerald of his eyes softening. "Tell me. What is it?"_

 _I bite my bottom lip, the movement throwing off his thumb._

" _I just…" my words hitch with an impending sob and I know in the back of my mind that I have to be quiet. "I just feel bad…making you wait for me."_

 _He's shaking his head, bending to press his lips to my brow._

" _I would wait for you forever, Bella," he says. "Everything that you give me is enough on its own._ Everything. _"_

 _The slight hysteria is beginning to dwindle at the look of absolute honesty in his eyes. He_ means _it; he will wait for as long as I need him to._

 _He lowers his lips to mine and, despite the eternal passion in the kiss, this one is much less desperate and much more forgiving._

" _I love you," he breaths into me, giving me life. "You are my forever," he promises and I wrap my arms around his neck to pull him closer to me._

 _He will_ always _be my forever, no matter what happens._

" _I love you," I say, and my voice is almost harsh with the truth of the words. He smiles against my mouth._

" _You are worth all the time in the world," he insists quietly, lovingly. My throat feels thick with emotion._

 _He pulls away from me and pulls the blankets over us, holding me close to him. He holds my hand in his and presses them against his chest, just over his heart. The moment is so sincere, and I want, more than anything, for him to stay the night with me, just like this._

 _I want to wake up next to him. I want to kiss him awake every day of my life._

 _He buries his face into my hair, letting my smaller form mold to his larger one._

" _You're worth everything," he whispers._

 _I don't think I was supposed to hear him, but I do._


	67. Limited

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

"Explain to me again why we're here?"

I spin on my heel, glaring up at Rosalie—up because, with her three-inch heels, she's five inches taller than me.

" _You_ wanted to come with _me_ ," I retort.

Rosalie makes a sound in the back of her throat that is far from attractive and flips her long blonde hair over her shoulder. She falls into habitable silence again, as we stare together, staring at the large brick building before us.

It's the first time she's been back to the jail since she brought me here the very first time I visited. It feels like a lifetime ago, like my entire life has transitioned and grown since then. Secretly I'm grateful she insisted on coming with me. Emmett had to work, and so could not accompany me today. I don't know if I am ready to come by myself yet. It seems too intimate, too real if I'm by myself.

Although, the reason I'm here today _is_ going to make this more intimate, more real.

"Are you still going to tell him?" she asks, watching as an immaculately dressed lady moves towards the glass doors before us. I watch, too, my mind a flurry of uncertainty. I don't answer, waiting for the entrance of the lady to act as my savior because I still haven't decided if I'm going to tell him for certain.

A buzzer sounds, the lady's voice coming through a small golden box to the right of us.

" _Do you have an appointment?"_ she asks, though her tone is friendly enough.

I press the buzzer to answer negatively.

" _Are you related to one of the inmates?"_

I pause, because no—I'm not related to an inmate, but what _am_ I to one of the inmates?

Rosalie presses her finger to the buzzer.

"Friends," she says and I'm even more glad she decided to come along.

" _Name and county,"_ the woman states, in her arm a dark orange tablet. She's poised, ready to look up his name, probably to see if he even exists in the jail. This is much different than every time I've come with Emmett, even the first time I came by myself. It seems weird…illegal, almost to appear without an appointment. Without any guards.

"Edward Cullen, Clallam," I say quickly, wanting to get inside the building before I lose my nerve.

There's a few taps on her tablet before the doors are sliding open, allowing both of us inside.

The lady reads from the tablet, "low level," and then she glances up at us. "I'll need the two of you to sign in. Identification will be required, along with your current address and phone number, just in case." She looks up. "Will you both be entering the common room?"

Rosalie shakes her head. "Just her."

She smiles kindly at me and holds out her hand. I shake, embarrassed by the clamminess to my own. She must be used to it because she doesn't comment. "My name's Clara. I'll bring you down to the visitation room once Mr. Cullen is notified. I do have to warn you," she pauses, raising her eyebrows carefully, "inmates _are_ allowed to reject visitors."

I nod once, trying not to let the surprise of that fact show on my face. He had told me he wanted me to come back…but would he want it _this_ way? In the common visitation room? Every other time we've been in the private rooms, with a therapist, or Emmett, or guards. Every other time has been scheduled. Would he rather I not pop in on him like this? Before I can further question myself and what I'm doing here, Rosalie puts her hand on my shoulder.

"He won't refuse her," she says to Clara who smiles at Rosalie and, though Rosalie has never before met him, she speaks with authority as though this is mere fact.

"All right," Clara says and reaches behind her to the desk. She hands me a clipboard, a page attached with a pen dangling off the end. "Have a seat and fill these out," she hands an identical one to Rosalie, "and we'll be with you shortly."

With a final smile, I listen to her heels clip down the hallway and out of sight.

I turn on Rose, but she's already shaking her head.

"We didn't drive down here for two and a half hours for you to back down now," she insists and then backs up to the polyester chairs a few feet behind us.

"What if he _doesn't_ want to see me?" I ask quietly.

She raises an eyebrow.

"What if he's busy?" I try again.

This time, she laughs. "Busy with _what_ , Bella? Counting the tiles in his cell? Flipping through the pages of a worn book? I'm sure this will be a grateful distraction for him." She looks at me knowingly and I think I blush, but the room is too warm to tell.

Quickly, I fill out the paper. Name, birth date, address, phone number, inmate name, inmate birth date. Easy answers. Then, the harder ones—relation to inmate, reason for visitation.

A man behind the counter stamps both of our slips with a time and date, and motions us back towards the chairs. It's not long before Clara is back, buzzing herself back into the reception area where we wait. She looks over the papers we've filled out and then glances up at me.

"Isabella?" she says and I stand, my legs unstable. "Come right this way, honey."

"Does he know?" I ask as I walk quickly alongside her, glancing around the hallway that Edward has called home for the past few months. But, then again, I don't even know if inmates are allowed down this way.

She nods, pulling out her card of identification and scanning our way through another glass door. This side is less bright, less warm. It looks more like the inside of prisons I've seen on television and I can already hear the gentle hum of conversation. We must be close to the visitation center—and then, we're there.

The guard from the inside opens one door and then another, allowing us to step inside.

The room is rather large, tables splattered randomly around the room and, as I look closer, I can see that each one is stationed to the floor, along with the chairs. There's a few other inmates sitting at tables, surrounded by family, or friends, or lawyers. I bite my lip, fretting the sudden change in atmosphere. It seems even more intimate, almost. No one listening in to the conversations, the guards standing by the door are merely there to make sure nothing terrible happens.

In here, though surrounded by others, we will be more alone than we've been in the other room.

"We tell all inmates who is here to see them, in case it's someone they'd rather not visit," she answers. She shows a slip to another guard standing on the other side of the door who nods towards a table at the far end. There's a large _12_ written on the surface. She leads me to the set up.

"A few rules," she says, pointing towards a sign against the opposite wall. The rules are limited, nothing like the rules in the other room. Here, it seems none of the inmates are cuffed. "Basically, don't talk to the other inmates—though this is more for _them_ than for the visitors." She points to the second bullet, "No passage of items, and…" she skims the list to the bottom, "Limited touching. Hugging, hand holding, light touches are fine. No kissing, anything like that."

She grins, places her hand on mine. "You'll have an hour. Enjoy your visit." And then she's disappearing back through the door she came and I sit, feeling smaller than myself as I wait.

 _Limited touching allowed._

My fingers ache.


	68. Twelve

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Hi, I'm the worst. I admit it. And I don't even have an excuse this time. But I have three chapters for you right now, and two more for tomorrow, so...love me please?**

* * *

I have nowhere to look other than the door twenty paces across from me, hesitant to look around for fear of breaking the rule of not contacting any of the other inmates.

None of the others seem interested in contact, though. They're all in their own worlds, greeting their mothers, their wives, their children. It warms my heart, but makes me wary as well, which is why I do nothing but switch between staring at the number carved out on the desk, and the white door across from me.

So, it's only natural that when the door opens, my eyes are trained on the dark scratch across the handle.

The guard says something to him, shows him the paper in his masked hand, but Edward's eyes are already moving around the room. They land, almost automatically, on me.

He moves towards the table—our table—and the guard looks surprised, but lets him go, choosing to stand beside the door again rather than forcing him to comply.

His orange suit is gone, replaced with dark gray sweatpants and a lighter gray long-sleeved shirt, pushed past his forearms. He fills it out well, I can't help but to notice, but I can't tear my eyes away from his, which are locked on my own until he reaches the chair across the table from me. He looks at the metal, and then back to me, waiting.

"Hi," I say after a second, not sure what else _to_ say. I sound timid, child-like, and his lip twitches.

"Hi."

I wait for him to sit, which he does after a brief moment of hesitation. I search for words, for anything to ask, because there's so much I _need_ to ask, so much I _want_ to ask, but I don't feel that I can.

"Um," I cross my leg quickly, decidedly, "how are you?"

His eyebrow twitches. It's something I recognize from our years together. He's amused by my question, but a bit exasperated.

Embarrassed, unsure, I ramble. "I mean, how…are you? I've never asked before… I mean, I've never asked… Every time I've visited, it's…" I sigh, gather my thoughts despite his constant look of uncertainty. "How are you…doing…in here…?"

Edward stares at me, the uncertainty and exasperation gone. He only stares.

He shifts in his seat after a few seconds and ignores my question. "Did you come alone this time?"

I shake my head.

"Who with?" he asks, and I can tell by the careful look to his eyes that he's wondering if I'm here with Mike.

"Rosalie," I say, and then add, "from school," because I'm not sure he knows who she is. I never introduced them.

"I remember," he says softly.

He's quiet for a little too long, and I think he wants more information—why I _didn't_ come with Mike, why I didn't come with Emmett, maybe, but he speaks again. "I'm…okay."

I look up at him quickly.

"Yeah?"

He watches me carefully. "Yeah. It's just…hard, trying to find things to fill the time."

I nod, a million other questions stumbling into my mind from that information alone. I look around the small corner of the room we are in, hoping to quell my burning desire for answers. "Do you have…friends?" I ask quietly.

"I don't think people in here are your friends."

His answer is short. He doesn't offer more. It feels strange, speaking to him this way without anyone watching our every move, our every word. I don't know what to say, what to do.

"Oh…," I settle with, glancing away from his charging eyes, his hard jawline. Studying his features will help neither of us.

He clears his throat and I glance up curiously.

"I mean, I'm friendly with some, yeah. My cellmate is…nice. Easy to talk to."

I smile softly and look back down at the table. "That's…I mean, good. I'm glad. That you have someone."

I glance back up at him as he looks away and I catch a lasting trace of sorrow in his expression. I run through my words in my mind, wondering where I went wrong, but I know how it sounded—like he has no one else in the world anyways.

I fidget in my seat, wondering how to take back what I said without making it worse, because he's still avoiding eye contact and not speaking to me. I stop, stare at him because it's ridiculous I _need_ to carefully choose my words. It's ridiculous I _always_ have to walk on eggshells with everyone in my life.

I've forgotten the small pact with myself that I would stop walking on eggshells; that I wouldn't hold things in for the sake of everyone else around me.

If something needs to be said, I'm going to say it.


	69. Bat

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **As promised.**

* * *

"Do you get to go outside?"

My question is swift; my desire to change the subject even swifter. I want to keep him talking, to keep him from shutting down and, even though I've already asked Emmett this question and know the answer, the small smile that graces his face makes it worth it.

"Yeah," he mutters, glancing back at me. "A few hours a day."

I glance at the clock, suddenly realizing we're wasting time with our caution, with our half-answers.

"So are you—" I start.

"How are you—" he asks at the same time. I pause. He does too.

"Oh," I think, not knowing what to say, because what _do_ you say to someone who's been behind bars for the past few months? How can I talk to him about my life outside? About my classes, about my friends, about my family when his life is currently at a stand-still. White walls, scratchy blankets, watchful eyes. "I'm…okay."

We both smile and then look away from each other. I'm painfully aware that my answer reflects his when I asked him the same question. I'm also painfully aware that I feel like I'm sixteen all over again. Nervous around him, unsure how to approach. "I only have a month left before I graduated," I say quietly, shyly.

"Are you still Literature?" he asks.

I nod.

He runs his hand through his copper hair, sets his green eyes on me and it's a startling contrast to the past times I've seen him. He's wholesome now. Ruggedly handsome as always, but reminiscent of the sixteen-year-old boy I fell in love with.

My heart jumps into my throat.

"I'm proud of you," he says quietly, seriously.

I duck my head, hiding my smile. "Thank you."

"Does your mom…?"

I shrug, knowing what he's asking without him needing to finish. "She'll get over it, I guess."

Maybe she already has.

Edward smiles a little. It's gone as soon as it arrived and I'm suddenly desperate to get it back. A real smile. A light to his emerald eyes.

"So…what can you do in here?" I ask quickly, hoping I don't sound anxious. "I mean, can you read? Can you watch movies? Or the news?"

Edward bites his lip and his eyes, which were watching me carefully, look away.

"Uh, yeah," he says to the empty chair at the table beside ours. Eleven. It's been empty the entire time. "There's a library. A common area with a T.V. Sports."

I can feel my eyes light up. "Baseball?" It would explain how he's kept his shape.

He glances at me quickly, his eyes searching my face. "There's baseball, but..." He looks away again. I think he looks embarrassed, but for what, I have no idea. "I can only play basketball, track…things like that."

"Why?" I ask, feeling stupid. It seems like a comment I should understand and the way he looks at me makes me think I _should_ understand.

Suddenly, anger sparks in his tone, "I'm in here for aggravated battery, Bella. They're not going to give me a weapon."

I blanch. "Weapon?"

"The bat," he says without hesitation.

"Oh. I didn't…" My mouth won't form words other than that and I feel horrible, remorseful like I've treaded some invisible line.

"It's okay," he says, sitting back. I hadn't realized he had become so rigid. Clearly, it's _not_ okay. Clearly, I know nothing about his life on the inside. The very idea of Edward—the boy who went to college on a baseball _scholarship_ —not being able to handle a bat…

I shake my head quickly, grasping onto what little I know, which is hardly anything anymore.

"I don't know how to talk to you in here, Edward," I cry, and it's a desperate sound. "I don't know what to say. I don't know what _not_ to say."

He ignores my questions, my traumatizing plea for a line, a hook, somewhere in this vast ocean of uncertainty.

He studies my face for a moment, his eyes never straying on one feature for too long before asking, "What are you doing here, Bella? Why do you keep coming back?"

His words sting me and I'm the one to sit back this time, the desperation leaking through my voice, my words, my eyes. "I thought—you said you wanted me to—"

"I do," he cuts me off and his words are sincere.

"Then why—"

"Do you only come back because I've asked you to?" he asks quickly.

I shake my head automatically without thinking, without hesitation and he closes his eyes, his expression suddenly tired. It's as though I've drained him. My answers exhaust him. My answers exhaust _me_.

"Then why, Bella?" he asks quietly, still behind his closed eyes. He sounds beaten down, weary from everything that's happened today.

Weary from me.

"Just…give me something. Please," he adds after a second, his words without volume.

The breath I take is sharp, as are the discretion of my words because it's what I've wanted to tell him the entire time. It's what I came here to tell him. It's what I felt was necessary to tell him, and the words tumble from my lips before I lose my nerve.

"I left Mike."

His eyes snap open, dark green raising to my own earthy tone and I don't know if his reaction made the words worth it, or if I want to swallow them back down again.


	70. Guilt

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

 ** _College: Freshman Year_**

 _Post-coital bliss has never been more accurate, I think to myself as I lay in my provided bed, head on Edward's bare chest, arm wrapped around his taut side._

 _The first month of college is a ride in itself, not made any easier by the absence of Edward. We've never been apart for this long, and seeing each other for the first weekend we are both free…_

 _It's been a small miracle._

" _Where's your roommate?"_

 _I blink slowly, trying to pull myself from the haze of sleep that threatens to pull me under and tilt my head to look up at Edward. He's glancing over at the adjacent bed, complete with dark purple comforter and basketball pillow propped against the wall. Rose has dragged me to a few games since we've met, thrown together in the roommate selection randomly._

 _I shrug around him and yawn, "I think she went home for the weekend."_

 _He looks down his nose, green eyes meeting brown. I grin, unable to help myself. He smirks, presses his lips to my forehead._

" _You didn't ask her to leave, did you?" he mumbles against my skin, hot with the packed heat in the room. I'll have to open the window soon. The small fan blowing is not doing its job, though neither are Edward's fingers as they stroke along my waist, doubling back at my ribs, moving back down. Each swipe takes his fingers further, and then higher. I've just had him, but I already want him again. I don't know how we're going to be apart for four years._

" _No," I breath, trying to quell my thumping heart._

 _It's racing for two reasons: Edward's fingers, and the lie that slips effortlessly._

 _His ministrations pause, the thumping doubles._

" _Why?" he asks. I can feel his eyes on me so I look up, knowing avoiding eye contact is the worst tell._

" _Why what?" I ask cautiously._

 _He stares at me for a moment before shaking his head and pulling away from me, sitting up against the headboard. I move up quickly, resting on my arm._

" _You don't want me to meet her," he says. It's not a question. And then, "You don't want_ her _to meet_ me _."_

 _I'm already scrambling to sit up, pulling the sheet with me, covering myself._

" _What are you talking about? Why would you think that? Why do you always assume the worst, Edward?" I'm rambling, but it's defensive and I think he knows that as he looks away from me, his jaw tense. I move forward on my knees, getting as close to him as possible without touching. I'm straddling one of his legs, leaning forward. "Yes, I asked her to leave for the weekend because I wanted to have_ sex _." His head turns slightly towards me. "Is that so wrong? To want to have sex with my boyfriend, without having to worry about my roommate barging in?"_

 _He's looking at me now, studying my face, and, even though I'm still lying, I think my anger is enough to hide it._

" _Sorry," he mutters and glances away towards the empty bed. His brow furrows and his gaze flickers to me._

" _It's okay," I whisper, a small smile playing at the corners of my mouth. I lean forward, pressing my lips to the corner of his. Distraction is my only technique now, guilt racking me quickly because I didn't ask her to leave for the sex, though it was a positive by-product._

 _I had asked her to leave because I hadn't fully explained Edward to her yet, and I didn't know if I wanted to. She had her own opinions of people, and I wasn't sure how to sway an opinion of Edward. I knew she'd latch on to the controlling, possessive personality—the way he looks at me, looks at others around us. I could practically picture the raised eyebrow as she glances at me, disapproving of his domineering arm around my waist._

 _And what happens if one of the guys I know talks to me, someone from class? What would Edward think about that? How would he react?_

 _I already know how he would react, and I already know Rosalie's response. She would never put up with something like that. She's too strong; she'd see me as weak._

 _And maybe I am._

 _Edward's hands reach out to me and I let him pull me into him, his fingers clasping onto my skin like he's trying to merge our bodies._

" _Really," he whispers, "I'm sorry." He presses his lips to my chin and I reach up, sifting my fingers into his messy hair. "I trust you."_

 _His words take me by surprise, and I don't know if I should be annoyed that he thinks something I said is worthy of such a phrase, or guilty because he_ shouldn't _trust what I'm saying. I lean forward, pressing my lips to his. He moves his hand between my legs, brushing against me and my mouth goes slack._

 _He chuckles._

" _Did you plan on having sex all weekend?" he asks quietly, his face close to mine. He lets his tongue dart along the corner of my jaw._

 _I smile and kiss him quickly, deeply so that he can't read anything else on my face. He pulls me closer and I feel him between my legs. He tugs at the sheet, dropping it from beneath my arms so that I'm bare to him again._

 _His kiss does nothing to suppress the moan that builds in my throat as he presses himself inside of me, and his whispered words of love do nothing to suppress the guilt that still holds me._


	71. Wrist

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

Edward stares at me, his eyes flickering between mine and I watch as the mask to his expression slips away. Anger builds behind the emerald glare.

"Why?" he demands.

I'm taken aback, left reeling from his irate tone. It's not the reception I would have expected from him, having just learned I left Mike.

"Extenuating circumstances," I say.

His brow furrows, his eyes flickering from my own to my arm and I can feel my muscles locking into place.

"Is it your wrist?"

I try to keep my breathing steady, to mask my own expression now because this isn't something he should know about. This isn't something he _should have_ known about.

"Huh?" I manage, my mouth suddenly dry.

"Your wrist," he says. "The bruises—did he do that?"

I'm at a loss, not sure how to proceed, but knowing I had been as careful as possible with the evidence.

"How did you—"

"Did he do that to you, Bella?" His tone is hard, low in his throat. Dangerous.

"It's not what you think—" I start, but he cuts me off heatedly.

"Really?" His green eyes smolder with the fire that burns through them. I haven't seen him so angry since the day he was arrested. "What is it, then?"

I don't respond, but I can't look away from his gaze. He holds me there, captive to his developing observation, his devastating conclusion.

"Let me see your wrist," he says, his voice heavy with authority and I notice the guard beside the door glancing over in our direction. Clearly our awkward, quiet back and forth has turned into something more, something telling.

Edward notices too, lowers his voice and visibly calms his demeanor, though I can still see anger sparking in his green eyes. "Please," he tries again, softer this time, "show me your wrist."

And because I've never been able to deny him, I pull in a breath and move my arm to the surface of the table. It lies there limply; a limb on a string waiting to be moved.

"Lift your sleeve, Bella," he says gently.

I chew on my lip as I do what he asks, knowing there's no turning back. He knows what is there. He's seen it, apparently.

The bruise is nothing other than gross. Green…yellow. _Healing_ , but gross.

His nostrils flare and he shakes head. He's almost serpentine with his anger. He could strike at any moment. The Edward I knew would strike while the iron's hot.

"Did you tell anyone?" he asks.

"I—"

" _Did you tell anyone?_ " he asks again, because he can already see the wheels turning in my head, the excuses rolling from my tongue.

"Alice," I whisper. He sits back, his expression dazed as though he cannot believe what he is hearing. After a second he's back, his spine straight as a rod, his eyes focused on me. They dance between my battered skin, my humiliated eyes. I want to pull my arm back, to hide, but I know it'll only make him angrier.

"Why didn't you tell your stepdad, Bella?" he asks, argues. "Why didn't you tell Charlie?"

"Well, he saw, but…" I trail off, not knowing what else to say. Charlie saw—and that was it.

"But what?" he presses. I notice his breathing is heavy, erratic, almost. Like he's trying to keep himself contained and I wince, knowing how badly this could go.

"I asked him not to say anything," I answer after a few tense seconds.

He's appalled. "And he didn't?"

"I don't think so—" Before I can finish, Edward is moving to stand, to do God knows what—tell someone, fight someone—but I reach out quickly, instinctively. It's old habit, trying to reign him in before he does something he'll regret, something stupid, something _I'll_ regret, but all it does now is bring the skin of my palm in contact with the skin of his forearm.

We both freeze.

We haven't had physical contact in over a year, maybe even a little _more_ than just over a year. I can feel my pulse racing from my fingers, attuned to his smooth, warm skin and I have a sudden instinct, a sudden desire to curl my fingers against his arm. To wrap my hand in his undivided warmth, in the life that flows through him. And, at the same time, I want to pull away and never look back.

I don't know how Edward feels because he's only staring at my hand and then at me, his jade eyes unreadable. There's too much happening there. Too much pain, too much anguish that it's hard to read between the lines.

Finally, he relaxes back into his chair. He seems to take the shape of the metal, his limbs nearly falling slack, his muscles releasing whatever tension they held. Slowly so that I have time to move if I so choose, he turns his arm in my grasp until our palms face each other. His fingers brush the underside of my wrist delicately, soothingly until he tangles his fingers around _my_ skin, around _my_ arm.

He holds me and I let him, a gentle buzz growing through my body.


	72. Try

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

His fingers are soft and they remind me of other times he's touched me, other places he's touched me. It takes everything within me to stay quiet, to not let the emotional journey that is Edward and I take over this moment. I live it, recommitting to memory that way it feels when his index finger strokes along the inside of my wrist.

He traces the outline of the bruise, careful not to cause pain, though when he speaks, his voice is riddled with it.

"It's not right, Bella." He takes a small breath, a quiet sigh. "It's not fair."

I swallow, hoping my voice won't give away the entangle of emotions flowing through me right now, glad that his gaze is still trained on the subtle movement of his fingers over my skin.

"I know," I manage, my voice too soft to hold any power. "I'm sorry you're here and he's—"

Edward looks up at me quickly. "That's not what I mean," he says quietly.

I open my mouth to say something, but his fingers move a little higher, trace a little further into my palm, just past the junction of my wrist and I suddenly feel weak, lightheaded. I close my eyes.

"I don't care that I'm in here."

My eyes snap back open.

There's something to his expression, some vulnerability that I don't see often. Really, that I've hardly ever seen.

"I mean, I _know_ why I'm in here," he continues quietly, glancing back down at my arm. "I'm working on it." He looks up at me timidly and the breath catches in my throat. "But you shouldn't let him get away with touching you. It's not fair to you."

"I just…" I blow out a breath. "I want to forget about it. I tried to slap him, it wasn't…" I shake my head because I know I shouldn't defend Mike, and yet I do it anyways.

"Why did you try to slap him?" Edward asks.

I know I shouldn't tell him this. I know this is a topic we shouldn't get into, but there's something about the way he's looking at me, the susceptibility in his eyes that makes me want to tell him anything he wants to know. But I know that to do that, I can't be touching him.

I pull my hand from his, immediately burying my face so that I can't see his wounded expression.

"He called me sloppy seconds," I mutter behind my hands.

I wait, but the only sound I hear is the clinking together of his teeth. I chance a peek at him, but his eyes are closed. After a few seconds, he takes a breath and opens his eyes. There's anger there, yes. Offense, definitely. But it's not boiling over. It's not threatening to eat him alive. I'm shocked by what I see, and it makes my words come out in a whisper. "It doesn't matter."

That sparks something in him.

"Doesn't matter—" he begins to hiss, but stops himself. Breaths.

"Okay," he says slowly, "you're right."

I stare, blink once. I don't know who this man is in front of me.

"If you've moved on," he adds carefully.

"I have," I assent with a nod—and I have. "Honestly."

I hope my eyes aren't as wide as they feel right now as I watch him digest the information placidly. He runs a hand through his hair, resting his elbow on the surface of the table and then looks at me. _Really_ looks at me. His eyes are bright. He's flourishing.

"I'm trying," he whispers to me.

I'm breathless from his words, but he needs encouragement. He needs validation.

"I can see that," I say. I bite my lip. "I'm proud of you." I realize it's a reiteration of his earlier words, but the twitch in the corner of his mouth makes it worth it.

He looks away from me, towards the far wall, the one my back is to.

"Our time is almost over," he says sadly. It still distresses me to realize he's been here, in this circumstance, in this room so many times that he knows the routine.

"Can I…do you want me to come back?" I ask quietly, because I _want_ to. I want to come back.

His expression softens, the desolation slipping away for a moment. " _Yes_ , Bella," he breaths. "The answer is always yes."

I smile at him. I can't help it. I don't know if my being here helps him, if it puts us in a good place, but I'm desperate to try to _put_ us in a good place. I'm desperate to help him…to help _us_.

My teeth pull at my bottom lip and I can feel the wetness in my eyes.

"I'm trying, too," I promise quietly.

His gaze lightens, the tension around his eyes softens, though the look is somewhat more intense now, unmarred by masked anger and hurt.

"I know," he whispers.


	73. Ground

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **WOW. I have been a horrible author. I honestly have no excuse, just…life.**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter, if anyone is still around to read it :)**

 **P.S. I have another two to three sketched out.**

* * *

"You have to leave first."

I blink up at Edward, having been lost in my own thoughts. He looks not unhappy, though not ecstatic, either. I wonder what he thinks of my visits. I wonder if this is how he looks when Emmett visits, but now all I can think about is how I won't see him for a while again. I have to get back to school.

"I do?" I ask, glancing around at the surrounding tables. A few of the others that were here earlier have already left. Some new groups have joined empty tables.

"Yeah." Edward glances away towards the clock on the wall. "I can't leave the table until the guard takes me."

I sit for another second, not saying anything. This feel remotely like high school, late at night on the phone, telling each other to hang up first. He never would; I always had to before my mom heard me on the phone. But this was different. He couldn't hang up first. _I_ had to.

With a sigh, I start to get up, bracing my hands on the table, but Edward's voice, soft and timid makes me freeze.

"Bella?" He looks uncertain, like he wasn't sure he was planning on saying anything. "I just..." He pauses. "I don't expect anything from you."

My brow furrows and I'm confused by the implication to his words.

"You visiting me, I mean," he says quietly. "I don't expect anything to come out of this. I want to...to respect your distance. I know it's what you want." His green eyes are smoldering, ablaze in the frame of his long dark lashes and my throat tightens. The air is suddenly heavy and it's hard to breathe.

I shake my head, fighting the urge to grab for _his_ arm this time, to hold _his_ hand this time. The truth. I should just tell him the truth. There's no point in holding back my feelings. "I don't...I can't say I don't want something to come out of this."

His eyes immediately soften. They sadden. "Please don't say things you don't mean."

"I'm not." My answer is instant. Honest.

Edward bites his lip, says softly, "Okay," before the corner of his mouth turns up. It's small, nothing close to the heart-wrenching smiles I know he can muster, but it's something. There's a fluttering in my chest and I smile, too. After another second, I stand, watching as his eyes follow my movements, never leaving mine.

I'm surprised at the intensity the idea of walking away from him leaves me with.

Instead of moving around the table, step to his side and flash a quick glances at the sign hanging beside the door. The guard is watching me, though not closely. I think, maybe, they don't care much about the touching rules other than the passing of items.

Edward watches me carefully, his eyes almost glistening like he's wary of what I'm about to do, of how I'm about to make him feel. I ignore the warning signs and reach out, placing my hand carefully on his cheek. Simultaneously, we pull in a breath. He closes his eyes, leans into my touch.

His skin is soft, smooth. He's recently shaved and it makes me happy that he's taking pride in his appearance once more. I don't know how often he's allowed to shave in jail, if he's even allowed to shave his own face, but he looks…better. Stronger emotionally—because physically, he's always in good shape.

"I'll see you next week?" I whisper.

Edward opens eyes and smiles at me. It's shy, almost. Like he isn't sure how he should feel. I guess we both have that in common. We still have a lot of ground breaking to do.

"I'll see you next week," he answers softly.

I curl my fingers on his jaw ever so slightly before letting my hand slip away.

It's still tingling as I leave the building.


	74. Obstacles

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

"So." Rosalie glances at me from the driver's seat, her long hair blowing from the open window. "Did you tell him you dumped trashy Mike?"

I smile despite myself. "Yes."

"How did he take it? Did he beg you to take him back?"

I look over at her and frown. "No, Rose. He didn't."

She doesn't answer and I feel badly after a moment for my short tone. It shouldn't surprise me, her tactless matter-of-fact words. It's how Rosalie _is_. She says what's on her mind. Sometimes, I wish I could be more like her.

"He knew about my wrist," I sigh.

That gets her attention. She pulls off her sunglasses so she can look at me better.

"How?"

I shrug. "He always knows things. I don't know how." Without thinking, a slow grin pulls at my mouth. "I used to think he could read my mind."

Rosalie is studying me carefully and I know she can see the difference in my disposition. "I take it the visitation went well?"

"Yeah," I say quietly, staring back out through the windshield. The small grin is still just barely noticeable.

"You seem…optimistic," Rose points out.

I shrug again and bite my lip. "He told me he's trying."

"Trying what?"

"Everything," I say and then let out a breath. "To control his anger, to control his possessiveness. He…I don't know, Rose. He seems…changed. Calmer, almost."

"You think it's the therapy?" she asks, pursing her lips.

"I don't know. I mean, I'm sure it helps."

"Yeah, but I bet you do, too."

I don't say anything, because I don't know _what_ to say. I don't want to say that she's right, because I don't think she is. At least, not completely. I definitely didn't help in the beginning. I definitely didn't help when I brought Mike along.

"I mean, think about it," Rose says after a while, realizing I wasn't going to say anything. "This kid fell in love with you the second he met you, was desperate for you even while you dated. You were there for him through so much, and now…it's like you're there for him again. I think jail does a lot for some people—for the small crimes, I mean." She flips her hair, glancing over at me once we reach a red light. "Like, when my Uncle went to jail for possession… He doesn't even _touch_ drugs now. He doesn't even want to talk about them."

Her blue eyes are wide, excited.

"What if he's not like that when he gets out? What if he goes back to the way he was?" I wonder quietly.

Rose shrugs and then moves forward as the light turns green. "As long as he sticks with what he should do—therapy, and all that, he'll probably be okay." She smiles to herself, happy with her advice. If only it was that easy.

I purse my lips and stare out the window because I _know_ it's not going to be that simple. He has a lot of obstacles to get through before he's _okay_ , whatever that means.

The first and foremost is his father.


	75. Engines

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

 _ **High School: Fall of Junior Year**_

" _Are you sure about this?" I look at Edward, studying the intricate curve to his jaw. "It won't upset me if you don't want to meet him."_

 _I smile because we've already been through this; I've already told him I want to meet him. I thought I had kissed away any uncertainty, but now that we're standing in his kitchen instead of his bedroom, his anxiety is dripping back in._

" _I want to meet him," I insist, trying my best to hide how scared I actually am. I know if he catches any hint that_ I'm _unsure, he'll never follow through. But, at the same time, I can't help thinking about what he told me about the glass from the car window…about his broken wrist. "Is he...do you think he'll be drunk...now?"_

" _Probably not." He glances out of the small window above the sink. I can't see what he's looking at. "He's been working on the cars today. He doesn't usually start drinking until after he's finished." He purses his lips, turns his emerald eyes on me. "And the weekends. And any slow times." His hands which are holding my waist, turning me to look at him, squeeze lightly. "How about we go somewhere instead?"_

 _I shake my head. Breathe. "I want to meet your family."_

 _He's still unsure. Nervous. He stares at me before reaching up to place his hand on my cheek. It sends a shiver down my spine as he always does when he touches me. I lean into him, "If you're afraid I'm not going to want to be with you because of how he is...you must not know me very well."_

 _Finally, the hint of his crooked smile flashes at me. I reach up on my tip toes to press my lips softly to his._

" _Does he know about me?" I ask when I pull away from him._

 _He nods once._

" _And your mom?"_

 _This time, he smiles before he nods._

" _Okay." I move out of his reach, but take his hand. "Then let's go."_

 _Really, I want to ask if they_ want _to meet me, but I don't know if I want that answer._

 _Edward pulls me out through the kitchen, around to the shop at the end of their driveway. I see his father leaning over the hood of a car. It's flashy. Bright yellow. I wonder if it's one of theirs, or one he's working on._

" _Dad."_

 _He lifts up quickly, nearly hitting his head on the hood and I get my first real glimpse of the man that is Edward's father. He's tall, like Edward. His eyes are dark, as is his hair, but they share the same facial features. The same strong jaw, the same sharp nose. He's wickedly handsome._

" _Dammit, E." His voice is sharp with anger. "I thought I told you—" he breaks off when he sees me. Raises his eyebrows. "This her?"_

 _Edward shifts his weight onto the other foot and I squeeze his hand reassuringly. I can't be sure of his dad's tone. Is he disappointed?_

" _Yeah, dad," Edward says after a second. "This is Bella. Bella, my dad."_

 _Mr. Cullen moves closer to us and reaches out a hand, an easy grin splitting his face. He's even more handsome smiling. He looks like Edward when he smiles. I shake his hand with my free one, not missing Edward's tightening grip on my other hand as though he's ready to pull me away at a moment's notice._

 _I pull back from his dad, my hand greasy._

" _Shit," Mr. Cullen curses. "Sorry."_

 _I grin because I don't know what else to do, "It's okay."_

" _Never told me she was such a pretty little thing." I flush at the comment he makes to Edward, and Edward scowls lightly, but Mr. Cullen doesn't notice because he slams the hood of the car he's working on and sits on the exterior. His right leg dangles in front of him and he studies me with a keen eye, like he's sizing me up or something._

 _Edward opens his mouth to say something but his dad speaks first, squarely to me. "You know anything 'bout V6 engines?"_

 _I shake my head._

" _Pieces of shit. Not worth the trouble." He slams his hand on the hood of the car and I try not to flinch. "Takes too much gas to make an enjoyable ride. What do you ride?"_

" _Oh...no, I don't have a car," I say softly, not daring to look away from him. His dark eyes assess. I think he's one of those people that see you as weak if you break eye contact._

" _That right?" He looks taken aback. "Huh. Thought with a police officer for a father you'd get the best of the best. Cream of the crop." His tone is berating, though I don't know if he means it to be._

" _Charlie doesn't like to give things away easily," I say. "He wants us to work for the things we want."_

 _Mr. Cullen raises an eyebrow. "That so? Huh." He turns back to the car, then motions towards the other ten or so vehicles scattered in the driveway, in the grass. He picks up the wrench from the bench beside him. "Well, Bella. You ever want a cheap car, look no further than Cullen Mechanics." Then he points the wrench at Edward. "Don't get her pregnant, son."_

 _I balk and Edward grits teeth._

" _Yes, okay," he mutters. "Thanks, dad," and then steers me away quickly as his dad laughs loudly behind us._

" _Ease up, E!" he calls out. "Don't be so fucking hard assed." And then, in a less menacing tone, "Nice meeting you, Bella Swan."_

 _Back inside the kitchen, Edward folds himself against the counter, shaking his head while I stand before him, wringing out my fingers. I feel like a panic attack is just around the corner. Or hyperventilation, at least._

" _He hates me."_

 _Edward's eyes widen as he stares down at me. "Hates you? Bella, that's the nicest I've ever seen him."_

" _Really?" I whisper, biting down on my lip so hard I'm afraid I might draw blood._

 _Edward's eyes soften and a gentle smile touches his mouth. "He likes you," he says. "Trust me." He reaches out to ruffle my hair and then just as quickly pulls me into his chest. I lean against him, letting my head rest just over his heart. His pulse is calm, soothing._

" _He's...intense," I whisper after a few moments._

" _Yeah."_

" _Does he not like Charlie?"_

 _Edward grimaces. "He doesn't like any authority figure."_

 _I think on that for a while and decide not to dwell. I know Charlie is wary of Mr. Cullen; he warned me about him when he first found out about Edward and I._

" _Do you think he approves?" I ask after a while._

" _Of Charlie?"_

" _No, of me," I say._

 _I glance up at him when he doesn't answer and his expression is soft as he looks down at me. "Does it matter if he does?"_

 _I think about my answer and realize that it doesn't. Even if his dad hated me…if Edward wanted to be with me, I'd stay. "No." I purse my lips. "But I'd like him to."_

 _Edward smiles. "He does. Believe me."_

 _I smile, appeased for the time being and rest my head back on his chest. I think about the conversation and something sparks in my mind. "Edward?"_

" _Hmm?"_

 _I don't look to see if he's paying attention because I know he will be in a moment. "Have you gotten a girl pregnant before?"_

" _No," he says, but his voice and body tense so I look up at him, suddenly terrified of what I'm about to find out._

 _His eyes are closed as he speaks. "He knocked up my mom in high school. He always tells us it was the worst mistake of his life."_

 _God..._

 _I don't even know what to say, so I don't say anything because I can't imagine being told that as a child, or even as a teenager. Even as an adult, by your own parent._

 _I relax my head back on his chest, wrapping my arms around his taut torso. He holds me tightly and I think, in this moment, that we were made for each other. Maybe I was made for him._


	76. Work

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **So, I guess instead of quick updates, this story has turned into a few updates once a week :/**

 **I'm sorry about that, I promise I'll try to do better.**

* * *

 _ **High School: End of Junior Year**_

" _You should work for Edward's dad."_

 _I look up quickly at Alice from the job opening list posted in the hallway of the high school. It's for summer jobs, specifically. Her face is alive with the idea; she thinks it's grand, but one look at Edward and I know it is not._

" _Can't she do, like, temp work or something? Filing? Payments, maybe?" she continues on, speaking to Edward now. We're at the picnic table outside—we're finally allowed to eat outside for lunches since the Seniors have graduated._

 _Edward smiles at Alice. It's kind. Calm, but I know the smile is only surface submission, to keep her happy, to keep her from questioning his father too much. I bite my lip and change the subject, talking about an opening at the library down the street that's listed on the page._

 _Later that night, Edward drives me to his house. The ride is quiet, but I can tell Edward's mind is anything but. His fingers keep tightening over the wheel until his knuckles are white with the tightening. I want to tell him it's okay, or grab his hand, but I refrain. Sometimes it's better to let him simmer._

 _In his house, his mom is in the kitchen. She smiles when we walk in, says hello to me and pats Edward on the cheek as though she knows, instinctively, that something has upset him. She doesn't ask him what it is, and I can tell by the slightly faraway look in her eyes that it's just not something she can deal with today._

 _I smile to her, hoping she understands that he'll be okay; that I will help him._

 _She closes her eyes and turns away. I catch her staring out of the kitchen window unseeingly as Edward pulls me down the hallway towards his room. It's across from Emmett's, but he's still away at school. We're practically alone here, now. Edward's mother never says much._

 _I catch his eye when he moves to sit on the edge of the bed and I sit next to him quietly, knowing that_ he'll _know I will listen if he wants to talk. He grabs the baseball sitting on his nightstand, tossing it between his hands a few times before dropping it to the floor and running a hand through his messy hair._

 _When he looks up at me, I'm already watching him._

 _He reaches towards me and brushes the hair from my face, pushing it back behind my shoulders, exposing the top of my chest, my clavicles. His fingers drag softly along my throat, to my collarbones before he stops, his thumb pressing gently to the hollow at the base of my throat. He looks at me, his eyes bursting with olive tints. "You know I can't let you work for my dad."_

" _I know," I say. There's no judgement to my tone, no question. His words are simply fact._

" _I'm sorry," he says._

" _Don't be." I shrug. "I don't want to work with cars anyways." I smile, but the doubt begins to creep in. His thumb is brushing an invisible pattern along the base of my throat. It's distracting, but not distracting enough from the memories he's entrusted me with. I swallow. "You shouldn't work with him, either."_

" _I can handle my dad."_

 _His voice is soft; he doesn't want me to worry, but that's impossible. "When he's sober," I whisper._

 _The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly, but it's a sad smile, if it can even count as a smile. He pulls me towards him, presses his lips to my forehead. He kisses me twice, and then a third time before mumbling against my heated skin, "Let's not talk about this."_

 _It's a plea, not a demand._

 _I pull away from him, staring into his lost eyes. They're less heavy now; less burdened. He simmered, then released. Now, he'll be okay._

 _I lean forward and press my lips to his._

" _Pick a movie," he says, jutting his chin towards the laptop on his desk. His hand moves from my collarbone to my waist, sliding beneath the cotton of my tank top. His fingers tickle, and then make me gasp as they move higher. He kisses me again and this time I can feel the smile on his mouth. "And we can pretend to watch it," he murmurs._

 _I laugh and move away to do as he said. He's smiling and the moment is gone. The pain is always fleeting, but it's always there, hidden inside._

 _I think about his mom in the kitchen, about the hollow look to her eyes, the one I always see when she's around, and I pray Edward never gets that look. The one of total vulnerability, of helplessness. But I know as I sit, watching him hook up his laptop, studying the intricate details of his sharpened features that I'll make sure he never takes on that look._

 _I'll make sure he's okay._


	77. File

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

It's the last two weeks before finals and it seems the entire student body is in the library. I have to wind my way to the basement in order to find a free table and then, when I do, the lure of a section of books I never knew existed pulls me from the space. The novels are old, based mainly in plant and ecological sciences and I quickly lose interest when something grabs my arm, pulling me further into the aisle, further into the darkened corner of the basement.

I gasp, immediately pulling away, but Mike's face comes into view, his fingers taut around my lower arm. I'm keenly aware that the lighting is low in this section; there are no cameras.

"Michael, what—" my words are forcefully quiet. All I want is to scream, but he cuts me off quickly.

"I thought you weren't going to press charges." He lets go of my arm, knowing I'm too stunned to move away from him.

"I-I didn't," I say, shaking my head negatively—and it's the truth. I never went to file a report.

"Then why is domestic abuse in my file?" he hisses.

I'm still shaking my head, confused. "Michael, I…"

"Cut the bullshit, _Bella_." He snarls my name like it's a bad omen to him now. "Did you tell your stepdad?"

"No, I…well, he saw my wrist and—" Quickly, he glances down, grabs my wrist in his firm hand. The bruises are hardly as they were; yellowing in their healing, but still, he scowls. "I told him not to say anything," I rejoinder quickly.

"You fucking tried to hit me first, Bella," he retorts, dropping my arm. "It's not like I abused you out of the blue."

"No, I-I know." I'm stammering and he doesn't like it. "I told Charlie that. He said he wouldn't say anything."

His eyes flash with anger. "Well someone fucking did."

But now I'm even more confused that he would even _know_ this would be in his file, whether or not it actually is. I wonder if he had assumed I _would_ press charges and if, in turn, he checked himself out. I ask, even though I don't know if I want the answer. "How did you see your file anyways?"

He blinks, and then answers without further hesitation. "I got pulled over last night for speeding. He thought there might be a warrant out for my arrest."

My eyes widen because if Charlie had added this to his record, I need to know if he also added a warrant for his arrest. It doesn't seem right; _I_ was the one involved and _I_ never made such a report. "Was there?" I ask quietly, not wanting to upset him again.

"No." He closes his eyes. "But domestic abuse is in my permanent file now." When his eyes flash open, they're full of ire. Blame. "Jesus Christ, Bella. Did you fucking tell _him_? Your little jail bird boyfriend? Kinda like how you tried to talk me out of filing a complaint _against_ _him_."

My response is immediate, angry. "I tried to talk you out of filing a complaint because you started an argument with him in the first place."

Mike runs a hand across his hair. It's shorter than when we were together. "Fuck, Bella. I don't even care at this point. Just…stay away from me." He pins me with his glare and his words, though provoking, barely even upset me. "You're, like, cursed, or something. Everyone around you goes down. And please ask your stepdad to pull that from my file. I don't want that hanging over my head too."

"Too?" I ask suspiciously, raising my eyebrows. I don't care what he's said about me. I've already known this for ages.

"Yeah." He sneers, "Along with the never-ending feeling of stupidity for dating a girl as emotionally damaged as the guy she's still in love with."

I can't help the overproduction of my tear glands as I try to keep the droplets from leaving my eyes. He's right—I am emotionally damaged. And I am in love with someone who is emotionally damaged, and I don't know how much of it was, or is, my fault. I sigh and close my eyes, "Look, Mike, I know what I did to you wasn't fair…and maybe I shouldn't have agreed to go out with you in the first place. You're right. I was emotionally damaged—I _am_ emotionally damaged and I shouldn't have gotten involved with someone when I couldn't keep myself in check. I'm sorry. Really, I am."

My apology is honest, towards the both of us. I am sorry for pulling him into this, but I'm also sorry for trying to force myself to heal with someone else. I'm sorry for trying to move on as quickly as I did, even if it _was_ two years later. I wasn't ready; I don't think I'd ever be.

"I'm glad you're sorry," he says with a shake of his head. "I'm glad you feel something." He looks at me once and then leaves, leaving me to wallow in my own regrets by myself but I just lean against the nearest bookcase, arms wrapped around myself because I know there's no one to blame but me.


	78. Eligible

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **I am shocked—and honored—by the amount of reviews and readings I have for this story. I'm so glad you guys are all so interested and I'm equally as** _ **sorry**_ **that I am terrible at updating. But, nonetheless, there are a few chapters coming your way.**

 **Happy fourth to those who celebrate!**

* * *

I'm never more grateful for the creation of cell phones than when I have to call home or, more specifically, when I have to call _Charlie_ for something that I don't want my mother to know about. And she _would_ know about this if she answered the house phone, because she always knows, somehow, when I'm upset.

" _Officer Swan,"_ Charlie answers his cell phone and I scoff because I know he _knows_ it's me calling. He laughs a little, but is back to business in no time.

"Did you do it?" I ask vaguely, because I know that he knows what I'm asking about. The elongated silence on the other end tells me that as well.

" _Yes,"_ he huffs eventually. I sink into the kitchen chair I'm sitting on.

"How could you, Charlie? I said not to." I don't know why I'm so angry about this. Maybe it's because Charlie had always been the one to go to…the one who could be trusted. Who did I have now?

" _This isn't just about you, Isabella,"_ he scolds. _"What if he does something worse to someone else he is dating? What if no one believes_ her _this time? Having this in his record will at least make the victim's statement more liable."_

I hadn't thought about this and I know, somewhere in the rational side of my brain that it makes sense, but I can't shake the feeling that I've lost everyone I can trust.

"What about me?" I demand. "I tried to slap him."

" _You were provoked."_

"Isn't that a little discriminatory? Girls shouldn't hit guys either. That's very misandrous of you."

Charlie's sigh is loud and ultimately annoyed. I can almost picture his mustache twitching over his top lip in contempt. _"You didn't hit him. He stopped you by using physical force."_

"Yeah," I say, "so he was defending himself." I honestly don't know why I'm fighting tooth and nail to have some sort of write-up on my record, it's not like I _want_ one or fully think I deserve one, but just the idea that anything can be done so easily…

" _Bells, what's done is done. You don't understand—being in the police force you see a lot of situations like this. Guys get away too easily tormenting their wives, girlfriends, anyone. If I can stop another young lady from being injured at the hand of an aggressor, I will. You of all people should understand."_

I know he's referring to Edward's dad and I bite my lip, pulling away from the idea that I should have done more about that situation. I should have told others; I should have refused to let Edward return home after his mother left. But then again, I was a sixteen-year-old girl who hardly knew anything, much less the correct way to handle a boyfriend's abusive father. Especially when Edward all but made me swear on my life I wouldn't bring up his father to others unnecessarily.

He was terrified of what would happen if he and his brother were forced away from their father; I was terrified of what would happen if they weren't.

"Fine," I sigh, brushing my hand across my forehead to ease the developing ache. Each subsequent day seems riled with new revelations, shockingly determined emotions. "I didn't even know you could tamper with files like that. Isn't that illegal?"

" _Not if it's true."_ I'm not entirely sure I believe him. _"You confided in a police officer,"_ he adds _. "I have a right to write up a statement."_

I don't say anything and I'm thinking of hanging up because I don't really want to talk about this anymore, not that I actually have anything left to say because asking him to retract the statement seems wrong in some way, but he speaks before I can muster up a reason to hang up.

" _Talked to Edward today."_

It's not a question. He's not asking if _I_ spoke to Edward. I swallow once, then again, my mouth suddenly dry. "You did? Why? Did something happen?"

" _Bella."_ He sighs and my pulse speeds against my fingers which are instinctively grasping my chest. _"He's up for parole."_

I don't know what I expected but it was not _this_.

"It's only been a few months," I argue. I'm confused by the emotions coursing through me. They're moving through so fast that I can't pinpoint a specific one, or a vague theme.

" _And it's a minor offense_ ," he's saying, " _Most guys don't even see the time he's been in there for._ "

"But...he has five years." My words don't make sense as they roll off my tongue but now I'm curious because I just visited him five days ago and I'm wondering if he knew while I was there. Is that why he was so hesitant to tell me he didn't expect anything from me? Charlie's giving some explanation about time sentenced versus time served, but I interrupt. "When did he know he was eligible?"

" _Couple weeks?"_ he guesses and I grit my teeth.

So much for honesty.


	79. Release

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Umm, maybe some progress here? Hopefully you all like ;)**

* * *

He doesn't look as surprised to see me this time when he sits across from me, though this is another seemingly random visit. I've signed in and been given the basics once more, this time seated at table three.

His eyes glance over my face and he opens his mouth like he wants to say something, or ask something, but I'm already speaking before he gets the chance.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He sighs and his gaze flickers away from mine. "Because I wasn't going to apply."

There's an immediate response on the tip of my tongue, one of misunderstanding, of outrage but his direct answer draws me back in. "I—how did you know what I was talking about?"

I can see the answer written on his darkened face.

"My dad?" I breathe out a humorless laugh and sit back. "What, are you two best friends all of a sudden?" I regret the taunt as soon as it slips from my mouth. Charlie had always thought of Edward as a son. I think he knew he needed a father figure in his life, and so took the opposite route of my mother when we started dating. Instead of fighting against him, he tried to guide him.

"Sorry," I breath, but he's already leaning forward and shaking his head.

"It doesn't even matter," he says. "They're enforcing an early release."

I blink a few times, defining _early release_ in as many ways possible. "What do you mean?" I stammer.

"The prisons are overcrowded. They're granting early release to low level criminals."

He's doing amazingly well at hiding any emotions that this information would produce. My pulse is already quickening, my words barely more than a whisper. "When?"

"Next week."

I stare at him, trying to fathom how he must be feeling because he's not _expressing_ anything, but I know how _I'm_ feeling and I'm sure it's close to how he's feeling—excited, relieved, scared.

His eyebrow twitches down. It's barely noticeable, but I know what it means.

"You don't want to be released." It's not a question.

He pulls in a breath through his nose and looks to the left of him, studying the table beside us. No one is sitting there; more tables are empty today than the last time I came here. I wonder if there are certain days that are busier than others.

He runs a hand through his hair, sighs, looks back at me. His emerald gaze is haunted. "You don't understand, Bella. Time stops in here. When you visit…when my brother visits…I know you have lives outside of here, but when you're _here_ , in that chair, it's like we're in the same world."

"We are in the same world," I say quietly, sadly.

"No, we're not." He lets out a laugh that is more pained than amused and then motions towards me, his gaze glimmering. I don't know if he's holding back tears or irritation. "You're graduating, you're dating"—I open by mouth to argue the second point, but he continues—"You have friends. You have goals. I have a cell. A cell and these clothes. I have _nothing_ when I get out of here, Bella. I won't even have you."

On the cusp of tears, I choke out, "I said I was…"

"That you were trying, yes, I know. But I don't know what that means anymore."

My answer is quick, but thought-out. After all these visitations…counseling sessions…talking to Emmett, my parents, Rosalie, Alice…the answer is obvious. "I want to be with you."

And I _do_ wantto be with him, despite everything we put each other through.

Edward doesn't say anything for a moment and his perfectly sculpted façade is put back into place. "Why would you want that? I've ruined your life."

I sigh, letting my shoulders drop with the movement and there's a look of hesitation on his beautiful face, almost like he regrets bringing it up, but I'm not about to agree—or disagree—with him. "And I've ruined yours. Edward," I shake my head, exasperated, "it's something we have to work through outside of this place, but I want to be with you."

I'm happy with how determined my voice sounds at the end. It matches how determined I _feel_.

"I'm not holding you to anything," is his soft response and I don't know if he means he thinks I'll go back on my word, or he'll let me go if he needs to. I don't think I like either option. I don't like how much we distrust each other.

I set my chin, stubborn. "Fine," I state. "Then I guess I'll just have to prove myself when you're out."

The corner of his mouth twitches upwards, almost as though he could break into a smile at any moment, but he fights it. He lets out a breath, his muscles relaxing with the exhale. It's like he's released his tension, his pent-up anxiety, though a little still hovers in his eyes. He bites down on his lip and releases to speak. "You still love me?"

My sigh comes out as more of a laugh this time. "Edward, I never stopped loving you."

The anxiety is gone, replaced with something I haven't seen in months—hope.

"I've missed you," he breathes and the words are held with so much conviction, so much pain.

"I know." I swallow back the lump in my throat. "I've missed you, too."

He smiles, and the sight is nearly overwhelming. It makes tears well in my eyes and for the first time I feel like we will be okay. In a week, he'll walk out of this prison and back into my life as he's always meant to be.


	80. Parole

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Hi…sorry for not updating, please don't hate me. Here's a few chapters that I think will make up for it ;)**

* * *

Emmett is sitting outside of my mom and Charlie's house when I eventually get home. It's late, and no one else is home. I smile when he sees me, walking up to him cautiously. He looks tired, but better than I've seen him recently. He has what we all do now: hope.

"Not that I don't want you here, but why…" I start off, keeping the easy smile on my face so as not to offend him. Of course, Emmett is hard to offend.

"Your dad was giving me…advice," he says. "Thought I'd wait around to see you before I head out."

"About Edward getting out?"

"Yeah." Emmett sighs and stands up from the front steps, moving closer to me. "I don't know what to expect…what _he's_ going to expect. He'll be on parole, so he can't go home. He'll have to stay with me."

I nod, but I'm sure he can see the relief written all through my expression. Edward hadn't wanted to talk much about getting out, but I didn't want him staying with his father. "You think he'll have a problem with that?"

"Edward has a problem with a lot of things, but staying away from our dad isn't one of them." Emmett smirks, but his smile quickly drops. "He knows he won't be able to go home."

"Did you tell him he has to stay with you?" Emmett only lives in Port Angeles; he's relatively close.

"Not yet," he says. "I never got the chance. I'll tell him when I pick him up next week. Honestly, I don't think he'll care where he goes as long as…" He trails off, looks at me apologetically and I know what he's getting at.

"It's okay." I smile hesitantly. "We're…together."

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You are."

My smile widens, "Yeah."

"Thank _God_ , Bella. I don't think I could stand listening to him whine about you for six months." He's grinning, so I know he's joking around and it feels good to hear him like this, the same Emmett I met when I first started dating Edward.

"What's his parole?" I ask, shaking my head at his banter, laughing a little.

"Charlie said he'll probably have to do a few months of anger management classes for obvious reasons. No alcohol, drugs, weapons. He'll have to submit to drug tests whenever asked. Frowns. He can't leave the state, Bella."

This news shouldn't surprise me, but it still does.

"What about Montana?"

Emmett shrugs. "He lost his scholarship anyways. He's such a…" He sighs, shakes head and looks at me instead of finishing. "We'll figure something out, Bella. We always do."

"When is he out? Edward didn't tell me."

"Monday."

My heart jumps. Four days? That's it?

"Look, I was going to take him out to dinner or something, but I understand if you want to be with him. You can come with me to pick him up," Emmett offers, but I shake my head quickly, quelling the rising tension within me.

"No, I-I have exams that day. I wouldn't be able to get to your apartment until late at night. But—Emmett, do you think I should even visit the day he's out? I mean, won't he be…I don't know… _different_? He'll want to adjust, I think."

He scoffs and looks at me incredulously. "Bella, if you're trying to trick yourself into believing that kid wouldn't drive straight to your school the minute he's out, you're a fool. It's going to be difficult, but if you want to be together, you're going to have to work through it. And you can't do that by avoiding each other."

I choke up, not saying anything, so Emmett continues.

"I know it's a lot to handle, but just think about how he'll feel when he's out. He's going to want to find some shred of normalcy and he's going to have to do that in a new house with new rules placed on him by the state. If you want him to be a part of your life, you're going to have to figure out how to be together again. "

I let out a breath to calm myself. "You're right," I whisper. "Tell him I'll be at your apartment by nine." I can feel my face crumbling. "I wish I could be there to pick him up, Em."

He's already shaking his head and a slow grin spreads over his face. "He'd kill us both if he found out you skipped finals to get him. You'll have all summer. You'll have time."

I could only hope time would be enough.


	81. Articulate

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

The next four days were slow, but the drive to Emmett's apartment is fast and I don't know whether or not that's a good thing.

I want to see Edward, I'm _desperate_ to see Edward, but I'm nervous at the same time. I'm nervous he'll be different…and I'm nervous he'll be the same.

I'm nervous we won't know what to say, or that we'll have too much to say, but when I stand in front of the door with the silver _three_ insignia, my nerves are at an all-time high and I'm wondering if I should knock or call out or just fucking _leave_ when the door swings open and I see his crystal clear emerald eyes staring down at me. I only have time to pull in a breath, to inhale his essence, when his arms come around me, pulling me into him, into the small apartment.

I'm wrapped in him completely, utterly and I don't know what to say or what to do so I just hold onto him like my life depends on it.

Neither of us say anything, but we communicate plenty with the feeling of our chests pressed together, our hearts synching to beat as one.

I pull away first, but only because I'm suddenly desperate to look at him, to _really_ look at him and what I see is startling.

He's the same boy I fell in love with in high school; the same boy I left in college. He's the same boy that I visited for the first time in jail; the same boy I panicked over on my ride to this apartment.

He's just the same.

I wonder if I'm the same to him and I can see by the look in his eyes, the calming, euphoric look to his gaze that I am and I know in an instant that we'll be okay, that we can make this work.

He moves his arm past me to close the door, I hadn't even realized it was still open, and pulls me further into the room. Something about the look on my face makes the corner of his mouth twitch upwards and I'm smiling back at him.

"What?" I whisper and he shakes his head.

He pulls my hand towards him, pressing my palm to the center of his chest. It's hard, warm, full of life. I want to say those words that I've said to him a million times while we were dating but I'm afraid it'll ruin whatever is happening now, but I think he knows, because _I_ know.

"I fucking missed you," he breathes and the tearing of my eyes is his answer.

I glance around the room before looking back up at him. His eyes are intense like if he looks away from me, I'll disappear. I hope to erase that unease with time.

"Where's Emmett?" I ask even though I don't really care at the moment.

"Went home to grab some of my stuff."

"Are you okay?"

He looks at me like I should know the answer and says, "Yes," but I think he's lying because he doesn't _look_ okay. The relief, the elation quickly delves to something else the longer I look at him.

"You look scared," I admit. My voice shakes and I reach out, resting my hand on his upper arm. I touch bare skin, his shirt only coming down halfway. He's muscular, harder than before. He's so much different…and so much the same.

He grants me a half smile and I stare at him, trying to read him.

"You scare me," he says and then looks down at our feet, smiles again, but this time it's pained. "Actually, you terrify me."

"Because you think I'll leave again," I say sadly but he shakes his head, his eyes widening.

"No, I trust you. I know we can't be apart, Bella and I know now that you feel the same." He runs his free hand through his hair, the other moving to rest against my hip. The touch sends sparks through me and I ignore them as desperately as I can. We have too much to work through, but with my hand on his arm, it looks like neither of us are capable of being physically separated right now. "It may have taken me the last couple of weeks in jail to realize and to listen, _actually_ listen, to what you were trying to say, but I know you won't leave."

I let out a sigh, tightening my fingers around his arm at the same time because I want him to _listen_ , to _know_ that what he says is true. "Good," I whisper, "because I won't. But why…" I shake my head, trying to focus on how he's feeling, what he's saying. He moves backwards from me, pulling me towards the double-cushioned couch that sits against the wall. He pulls me down with him and ducks his head just enough to make sure we are on eyelevel.

"After you left me—no, listen." I had started to look away from him, the pain in his eyes too much to watch, but I glance back warily. I don't know if I can listen and watch at the same time, but he brushes his fingers against my leg, begging me to give him my full attention.

"I'd never felt so hopeless, so useless in my life," he continues quietly. "It was like everything my dad had ever done to me…said to me…my mom leaving…I would have taken the pain of all of that a hundred times over how it felt when _you_ left."

"I-I'm sorry." My words are strangled against the sob that threatens me, but his hand moves to my face, cupping my cheek gently.

"No, no," he rushes. "Don't apologize. I'm just trying to…explain to you…" He bites his lip and I stay quiet because I know how hard it is for him to articulate the way he feels and I don't want to interrupt his thought process. I watch as he draws his bottom lip across his top teeth, like he's searching for the centered pain to continue. "The therapist in the jail told me that my biggest problem is I act before talking things through. So, I'm not looking for an apology or regret because— _fuck_ , Bella," he grabs my hand, squeezing hard. "That's the _last_ way you should feel. No, you scare me because you're the only one that can make me feel that way, the only one that can bring me to my knees…that can make it feel like the entire fucking world is ending." He shakes his head, drops his head into his hands, leaning forward against his knees but I stay still and quiet, just…listening like he wants me to.

"Every day was a new hell for me, especially those summers. Those _fucking_ summers. The ones where you'd be home, five miles away and I couldn't do anything about it." He glances up at me from behind his hands and his eyes are dark, reliving this horrible time he's explaining.

My heart lurches in my chest and I want to comfort him, but I don't want to break him from this account because it's the most I've ever heard him speak in our time together.

"I used to go places I thought you'd be. The library, the movies, the beach—anywhere you could possibly go just for a glimpse of you, just to see if you were happy, or if you were trapped in your own personal hell, too." He pauses and sits back, resting his head against the edge of the couch like just saying this has taken all of his energy, and it probably has.

But I can see he's falling back into himself, into his own mind.


	82. Deprivation

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Continuation from the last chapter…I just didn't want this to be super long and super out of order with the other chapters.**

* * *

I lean up on my knees so he can't pretend I'm not here, or pretend he hasn't said any of this or what _ever_ the fuck he's trying to do. I grab at his shirt, twisting the hem by his shoulder in my fingers.

"It wasn't easy for me, Edward." My words make him look down at me, his head still thrown back. "I did the exact opposite—I stayed in or when to the _last_ places I knew you'd be because I knew if I saw you it would be all over. I knew if I caught a glimpse of you, there was nothing that would stop me from running back to you."

I catch the softening of his eyes and he lifts his head, turning his body to face me, resting the side of his head back against the cushion.

"Not even Mike," I whisper. "I didn't love Mike, Edward. I didn't even want to be with him."

"Then why were you?" he asks but his tone isn't angry or judgmental.

I shrug because I don't have any other answer. "My mom?"

Edward sighs and looks away from me, but I continue, "She didn't want to see me so…depressed, I guess. She wanted me to date. I pushed back for as long as I could until…"

"Until _Mike_ came along," he finishes for me, looking back at me. His eyes have hardened to a metallic green.

"He was…I thought he was the complete opposite of you. I thought it would be good for me. But then I started finding things in him that reminded me of you. He was so quiet sometimes," I smile to myself, shake my head. "There would be days when he would hardly even talk to me, but he did it because he didn't have anything to say. _You_ do it because you keep everything in here." I let go of his shirt to drag my hand down his chest. I cover it like he did when I first got here and his eyes melt.

I stare at my hand over his dark green shirt, feeling the cotton fabric on the pads of my fingers, wishing it was his bare skin. "Sometimes I thought you'd explode from how much you kept inside. And the way you'd watch me sometimes…" I glance up at him and he's watching me in _that_ way, the way that makes me want to kiss him and demand he tell me what he's thinking at the same time. "Like there's a million things running through your mind, but you'd just _look_ at me and I could swear— _can_ swear—I see it all running through your eyes."

His own gaze is moving between mine and I feel the warm drops of tears beading my eyelashes, dropping to my cheeks. "I could see how much I hurt you," I whisper. "How much of a strain it took for you to be with me.

"Towards the end, I thought I was ruining you. The anger and doubt was eating you alive and I-I thought if I just left…if I just walked away that somehow you'd be able to right all of your overwhelming feelings." I don't even know if he can understand me anymore through my crying, but he's still watching me, his fingers brushing over my legs, my arms, my back, anything to soothe me. "I thought I was doing the right thing, Edward," I sob. "I thought I was helping you but I was just hurting both of us even more and I was so stupid and I didn't even stop to _think_ we could just work through it and I didn't…I couldn't…"

My words break off into hysterics and I'm barely even aware as he pulls me to him, cradling me, holding me like he used to. He doesn't say anything to refute my words or make me feel worse, just holds me and rocks me against him until eventually my sobs break down and I'm left gripping him tightly, my mind and tears calming. His mouth is pressed to my head and he sighs against my hair.

"You leaving me was probably the best thing for me. For us," he says. I pull away from beneath his chin just enough to glance up at him. There are tears in the corner of his eyes, my own wetting his shirt. I reach up to brush the few that dropped from him away and he closes his eyes.

"You leaving made me realize I couldn't keep treating you that way. That you wouldn't stick around forever. In jail, the therapist told me I was treating you how my dad treats my mom. It made me sick to my stomach, her telling me that, but she was right.

"Where I thought I was doing the exact opposite of what my dad did, I was still putting you through so much emotionally. I was doing everything in my power to not turn into him, and the result was that I became him."

I gasp, pulling myself up to stare directly into his eyes because he can't be so _foolish_ as to think…

"No, you didn't," I say harshly. "Don't ever say that. You'll never be like that man."

Edward only smiles sadly and pulls me back to him, pressing his lips to my forehead. The kiss is hot, searing. "Now I won't, but I can see now I was going down that path. I was manipulative with you. I was trying to find every reason in the book for you not to leave me and it resulted in the opposite. Bella," he takes my face in his hands, his palms flat against my face, making sure I'm listening and I am. I always am and I always will."

"I've learned my lesson," he continues. "I'll never treat you that way again. I'll never doubt your honesty, never demand answers from you. You can go where you want, talk to who you want and I won't let it bother me because I _know_. I know how much you love me, how much you want to be with me." He shakes his head, pulling me even closer to him. "If jail showed me anything…you visiting me despite everything showed me just that. You need me like I need you."

I'm biting my lip hard and Edward's thumb moves to pull it from between my teeth. "I do," I whisper, the tears threatening to spill for a different reason entirely, now. "I do need you. I love you. I always have and I always will. Only you."

He smiles lightly and pulls my face to him, turning me just enough so that his lips meet my cheek. "And I'll try not to get lost in my own thoughts. I'll try to articulate more, but I need you to tell me what you need, okay? If I'm being quiet or if I'm stressing you out, I need you to tell me because sometimes I don't realize I'm being that way."

I'm already smiling halfway through his promises, "Okay."

His fingers brush down my cheeks, pulling at my jaw, tilting me to look at him. "I love you," he whispers and his words are harsh, unnegotiable, and I grin at him again.

"I love you, too."

He tilts my head and presses his lips to mine. It's a quick, chaste kiss but filled with endless passion and promise. I drop myself, resting my head against his shoulder and he wraps his arms around me. We sit like that for what feels like hours, just relishing in each other's company, in each other's arms.

Something we have deprived ourselves of for the past two years.


	83. Reborn

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **We're not finished with these kids yet…**

* * *

Sometime later, Edward's lifting me, bringing us towards his room, whispering that Emmett will be back soon and that, though he loves him and missed him, he would rather be alone with me right now. I agree, though the sleep-haze that's taken over my mind only allows me to rest my head back against his shoulder as an answer.

I press my lips to his neck, curling closer to his side when he puts me on a bed. His bed.

"Emmett has two rooms?" I manage to ask around a yawn. All of the crying has tired me out, and Edward laughs lightly.

"Yes. In case I needed to leave home." The answer sobers me and wakes me a bit more. "Do you have exams tomorrow?" he asks, his previous answer not affecting him in the least.

I nod, stretching out my legs. Being curled up on his lap for the past hour or so has left me achy and stiff.

"What time?" he asks, pressing his lips to my temple.

"Eight."

"You have to leave tonight?"

Regretfully I nod, knowing I'd never make it on time if I left in the morning.

"You shouldn't have come, Bella. I would have waited."

I don't respond, pulling away to look down at him softly. In the moonlight shining through his window, only half of his face is visible. He looks how I feel—tired, but calm. Happy. He's watching me with that look he always watches me with. The one that hides him and reveals him at the same time.

Without thinking, I lean down and press my lips to his.

We pour everything into this kiss, all our worries, our depression, our reluctance to be apart. His hands twine themselves into my hair and he's pulling me down on top of him, tasting my mouth. He feels and tastes exactly how I remembered, but better somehow. He kisses me like he's lost me, and then like he's found me.

His fingers are nearly clumsy, unlike him, as he reaches for the hem of my shirt, dragging his warm hands up towards my ribs. I sigh into his mouth, relishing in _this_. In _us_ because we haven't been us in so long and it feels amazing to know we can pick up where we left off. Maybe not mentally, but physically.

He moves against the bed to shift on top of me and I can feel him between my legs, against my groin, against my thigh and I press back against him, letting my head fall to the side as all of the familiar and desperately desired feelings come soaring back through me. I'm achy and needy and sad and happy all at once, but his lips over my throat, over my jaw, back to my mouth wipe away any doubt.

I want him. He wants me.

His fingers are fast now to disentangle my shorts from my body and he doesn't bother to pull off my underwear as his fingers slip through the side, touching where I need him most. I let out a sigh that's followed by a groan from him as his fingers explore the hot, wet center of my desire.

He pulls back slightly and is looking down at me and I can feel the brilliance of his emerald gaze, the sheer intensity with which he stares at me, and I know he's asking for more than just permission. He's asking if he can have me, all of me.

I respond by reaching down to tug at his pants and he's pushing them down his legs quickly.

"Are you still..." he starts to whisper, but I pull him down to me, pressing my lips back to his.

"Yes," I breathe against his mouth. "Please, Edward." I shift my hips up towards him and in a quick movement, one aided by his fingers as they pull fabric to the side, he's inside of me.

I tense, not having had someone fill me like _this_ since...well, since _him_ , and he holds himself above me, waiting for me to acclimate. He's kissing any part of me he can reach, my forehead, my cheek, my shoulder, my ear, whispering his love for me, his compassion and _need_ for me.

Being connected like this, in a way I'd thought we'd lost, makes me want to cry and I'm glad it's too dark for him to see my eyes watering. I feel him, running my hands over his shoulders, his arms, his chest while he kisses me and then lift my hips and wrap my arms around his shoulders to goad him, to let him know I'm okay.

"Slow," he whispers against my mouth and I feel like I'm seventeen again, wanting him to claim me as his for the first time and really, this is like a first time. We've been reborn; we've been given another chance and I'm desperate to make this one work. He moves within me, slowly, experimentally and I'm lost in a sea of Edward.

I'm building in minutes, not able to hide how he makes me feel, what he does to me inside and out, and he's moaning along with me, holding me tighter, kissing me harder, longer.

I hold him when it's over, his head on my chest, his legs entangled in mine and I can feel the dampness of tears forming against my shirt, under his face. I press my lips to his hair, trying to calm him, to show him I'm _here_ , that I'll always _be here_. "I love you. I want you," I whisper.

He glances up at me, his sad eyes filled with sorrow, but clouded by love. "I love you," he whispers back. "I'll never make you doubt me, _us_ , ever again."

I smile. "I don't." I kiss his temple. "I don't think I ever did."

He pulls himself up my body to kiss me again, deeply, desperately and I don't know if I'm going to make it back to school tonight, but I think I'm completely okay with that.


	84. Happy

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

I wake sometime during the early morning, Edward's and my bodies wrapped around each other like vines. I do everything in my power to disentangle myself without waking him, the slightest bruising under his eyes giving away the less than stellar sleep he must have got in jail, and gather my shirt, which had been tossed to the floor at some point, and my shorts and underwear which are still, miraculously, wrapped around my left ankle.

I dress quickly in the dark and then press my lips to the top of his cheek, then his mouth, wondering how I ever thought I could live without this boy, and sneak out of the bedroom.

There's a note on the counter lying beside a twenty-dollar bill with a scribbled "thanks for everything" from Emmett and a mention of buying myself coffee and gas. I roll my eyes, but take the money and note regardless, knowing he'll be put out if I don't.

The ride back to campus is relatively short given the early time of morning and my desire to stay behind with Edward, in his bed. Instead, I'm greeted by a curious and eyebrow-narrowed Rosalie.

"You're back late." She glances at the clock which reads half past seven. "Or early," she muses.

I take a deep breath, relishing in the sore sensations it brings to my whole body. It's the good kind of sore; the one that makes you want to repeat the past twelve hours over and over again.

"I fell asleep," I say.

Her eyebrow raises. "Good visit? Must be nice to have him home." Rosalie knows from my last visit at the jail that Edward and I were "trying".

I smile, unable to help myself. "Yeah. He's happy to be back."

"I'm sure," she responds with a slight rise to her tone. "And I'm sure you appreciate getting dicked down the right way again, huh?"

I choke on the glass of water I had filled and started sipping from, sputtering water across the counter and Rose rolls her eyes, grabbing my arm and dragging me towards the bathroom.

"Rosalie—I have to get ready for class," I start to complain, but she ignores me, turning me to look at the mirror. I gasp at my reflection.

"Yeah, and I'm sure you want everyone in class to know exactly what you were doing last night." She pushes me to the toilet and forces me to sit. "Believe me, Isabella, I'm an expert at covering hickies." She sends me a salacious grin and then darts to her room, laughing the entire way.

I stand to study the reddish-purple marks that dot my throat, collarbone, hinting towards my chest. At least the majority of them will be covered by a shirt. I touch the one below my ear, a gentle tingle soaring through my body, straight to my groin. I can't stop the slow smile that spreads over my face. I don't even know if he realized.

Rosalie returns, covers me meticulously, and is sending me off with another laugh.

"Hey, Bells," she calls just as I'm grabbing my bag. I glance at her over my shoulder. "I'm glad you're happy." She smiles one of her Rosalie girl-next-door smiles and I'm grinning back.

"Me too," I say and then hurry off to finish my second to last exam of college.


	85. Pride

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Um…I have no excuse for the delay in this chapter or the subsequent chapters. I guess summer and laziness are best friends?**

* * *

Three days after Edward's return, I'm standing by the window of the apartment Rosalie and I shared, waiting for the sight of my mother's bright red car. She's supposed to help me pack up and leave, though I don't have much. Rosalie has already left earlier in the morning, heading back for Seattle. We were lucky enough as roommates to have been from the same general area; most aren't so lucky.

The sight of her car, along with the warning text has me smiling to myself, happy to be leaving for many reasons, but the smile slips and my pulse races when she steps out of the car, followed, from the other side, by Edward.

His shock of bronze hair is a mess and I know he's been running his fingers through it. We haven't spoken since that night a few days ago and he's probably agitated and uncertain.

I'm just as surprised to see _him_ as I am to see him with my mother of all people.

But that doesn't stop my legs from carrying me down the staircase and through the front door of the complex.

I reach my mom first, so stop to hug her, but my eyes are trained on Edward. He watches me cautiously, like he's not sure I want him here but he chuckles when I all but lunge at him. His arms wrap tightly around my waist and I hear my mom clicking her tongue behind me. It's a quiet sound, teasing almost.

"Alright, Isabella," she admonishes but I can hear the smile in her voice. "You'll have plenty of time for that when we're back in Forks. Let's get inside. Have you begun packing?"

I kiss Edward quickly and whisper, "I missed you," against his mouth and he smiles down at me, his jade eyes soft. He's missed me too. I turn back to my mom, but curl my fingers through Edward's. The look on her face is calm. I wonder what they've talked about on the ride up.

"A bit," I say sheepishly and she rolls her eyes so I offer, "I've packed my clothes?" and she laughs.

The room is stifling in the heat and I'm covered in sweat, my hair pulled back messily by the time we're about finished, but the way Edward looks at me makes me feel so pretty. It feels like we're back to our old selves, past summers floating back to the forefront of my mind and I relish in the memories.

When my mom leaves, her car packed with boxes, she does it with no subtle warning that she expects me home tonight and then kisses me on the cheek and smiles quickly at Edward.

I glance up at him, standing on the sidewalk as she drives off, and smile.

"What?" he asks, grinning back.

I wrap my arms around him again and bury my face against his chest. "I'm glad you came."

I pull him back in the direction of the complex because I still have to turn in my key and grab the last few boxes. Edward is going to ride back with me and I'm glad we'll have the next three hours to ourselves. He's relatively quiet and when I look up to see what's caught his attention, my mouth goes dry.

Standing just across the way, duffle bag in hand, is Mike. He catches sight of us and I can see the sarcastic glare to his eyes. It's not unlikely that we would run into him here—he has to pass through this section on his way to a from the gym—and, even though he's no longer a student, he's allowed on campus property as is everyone else that lives within the vicinity.

He shakes his head and lets out a laugh that sounds more angry than humored. Edward's hand in mine tightens and then pulls away and I desperately grab onto his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. I don't know what he wants to do or plans to do, but I need to get him back inside because I'm afraid the only thing running through his mind at the moment are the bruises that had been so visible on my wrist.

"Edward…" I start to say, but Mike's speaking too and it's hard to ignore his voice.

"So, this _was_ the plan all along, Bells?"

I know he's speaking from a place of pain, but the look on his face is incredulous, yet knowing like he had figured all along. Really, I guess I hadn't done a good job at hiding it.

His baby blue eyes turn their wrath on Edward whose jaw is clenching over and over again.

"Congrats," he hisses. "You've won." He glares at me again, though still speaking to Edward, "Some prize she is." His voice is filled with contempt and then he's walking through, not giving either of us a second glance until he's at the edge of the sidewalk and I'm grabbing for Edward's hand to pull him back towards the building while I still can, but Mike takes one last look. "Just remember the next time you're fucking her, I was in _there_ while you were in jail."

With a last snide smirk, he's gone.

I can feel the tension releasing from Edward as he starts to move forward and I know his intent so I quickly step in front of him, my hands pressing to his chest.

"Please," I say, tears in my voice that I had yet to realize were in my eyes, "let's just go, Edward. It's not worth it."

He glances down at me, his dark green eyes warring between my pleading and his ingrained need to fight for me, to stand up for me but I can see that I've won out the battle when his brow furrows, his jaw clenching.

"I can't—" he chokes out angrily, curling his hands into fists but I shush him and push him backwards because Mike is gone and there's no need to dwell on anything he's said. Mike's only speaking out of anger and hurt and I understand that.

" _Edward_ ," I redirect and he finally glances down at me from the spot Mike had vacated. He shakes his head and forces his hands to relax though I can still see the tension in his shoulders, against his chest.

He lets me pull him to the door though I'm not sure that would be the direction he would take were he alone.


	86. Possession

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

I already know what's going to happen as soon as he follows me into my nearly empty bedroom.

He was practically pacing in the elevator, looking everywhere at once as though he needed some outlet for his anger. I was surprised not to find fire shooting from the tips of his fingers, but as soon as the door shuts, he's on me.

His fingers wrapping into my hair, his mouth pressing to mine, his tongue tangling with my own. I know I shouldn't give in, but to be with him like this, like _anything_ , again is just so unreal that I can't help myself as I give in fully, letting him walk me backwards towards the emptied and clean-surfaced bureau. He grips me under my arms and places me on the surface as though I weigh nothing, his lips only leaving mine to slide my shorts and underwear off of my hips. I lift slightly so he can slide them off and then my arms are wrapped around his neck, pulling him back to me.

Really, this is my fault, too. I should have stopped and I should have made him talk to me, but his fingers are already touching me there and I know without even having to see the angry lust in his eyes that I'm more than ready for him. I always am.

He kisses me again before pulling me off and turning me around, pushing my arms to the bureau. I stand, panting, wanting as he kicks my legs apart with his own, my fingers gripping the edge of the wood.

I hear the zipper from his jeans and then he's inside of me, my inhalation more of a gasp, his a strangled groan.

He moves quickly, but he knows just how to press into me, against me, to hit that sweet spot inside of me and I'm crashing around him, calling out his name. His mouth on the side of my neck, he follows in seconds.

It's fast. Over with in just a few minutes and I feel sated, but used.

I refuse to turn back to him after I pull up my shorts, buttoning them quickly and staring at the grain of wood before me.

His fingers are still against my arms, his chest pressed to my back, his forehead against my shoulder blade. It's like he's defeated; freezing his entire body for any emotion that might spew from me.

"Bella," he mutters eventually and I can't tell if it's an apology or a thanks or what, but I'm not going to let this shit go anymore.

I turn. If he's surprised by the tears in my eyes, he makes no show of it. I shake my head. "We're not doing this," is all I say.

"Bella, I..." he trails off because what is he supposed to say? That's he's changed? That he didn't just fuck me because we saw Mike outside? Because of what Mike said to him?

"You won't take your anger out on me." My voice is not as angry as I'd like for it to sound. "What happened between Mike and I happened. We weren't together. You can't hold that against me."

I wipe at a few stray tears with the back of my hand and move to step around him. He stops me.

"Please, I just..."

I'm wheeling on him, my irritation and hurt stringing through my words. "Just what, Edward? Needed some outlet to pour your anger into? One that didn't involve physical violence?" I move away from him, grabbing my last few bags and box and leave the room. I'm too angry to even care that we have to ride back together. We'll do it in silence.

And we do.

He doesn't try to talk and I sure as hell stay silent. I'm mad that he thinks he can still treat me like this...like he can use me to vent his anger and jealousy where before he'd vent on the person who deserved it.

Three hours fly when you tune out as much as you can. Edward's been sneaking glances at me and I can see his jaw tensing over and over like he wants to say something, but his hat is pulled low so I know that he won't. I don't know if that makes me relieved or hurt.

He finally speaks when I pull up at Emmett's apartment.

"Will you at least call me when you get home?"

I don't answer, turning to look out my window dismissively.

"Bella, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"I'll text you," I answer abruptly, cutting him off.

He doesn't say anything for a moment but I hear the door open and close and, despite my desires to be home, in bed, crying, I make sure he makes it inside of the building. It's getting dark and I don't want him stranded.

Once he's inside, I'm gone and when I get home, there's a message from Edward saying he's sorry and that he loves me and that he wants to talk this through. To call him. But then there's a message from Alice asking if I want to come by for a bit.

The latter seems more appeasing at the moment.


	87. Farce

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

Alice is all ears as soon as she sees me. Really, as soon as I unintentionally break down in front of her. I feel terrible for laying everything on her like this, especially when we've just become friends again, but she honestly doesn't seem to mind. Alice has always been a good friend to me. A better friend than I deserve.

"So, you had sex because he was mad?"

I look up at her over the bowl of ice cream she'd scooped me. Black raspberry. My favorite. It reminds me of summer in high school.

"He had sex with _me_ because he was mad. And on parole. And didn't want to fight Mike." I sigh and push away my bowl. "I don't know, Alice, what if he hasn't changed? What if after parole, he just goes back to how he was. I don't know if I can handle that."

Alice stares at me for a moment and then does this thing with her lips that I remember her doing a hundred times when we were younger. It's a look of consternation. Like she wants to say something, but isn't sure she should. I remember I used to be annoyed by the look, but now I'm happy to see it. Happy to see Alice at all.

I become impatient, waiting as she chews on the inside of her cheek.

"Just spit it out, Alice. I'm already upset enough as it is. I don't think you could make it any worse."

She sends me a sly grin and thinks for a moment. She looks away from me and then back. "You might be mad..." she starts and I shake my head, encouraging her. "But I think, maybe, you're being dramatic?"

I blanch, staring at her wordlessly.

"I mean, you can't expect him not to be angry that this guy grabbed your wrist. And you can't expect him to not be angry when he sees someone you've dated." She pauses and raises her eyebrows accusingly. "Don't you remember how upset you used to get when one of the girls from the Reservation used to try and talk to Edward while you were together? Remember that party Jake had, where Leah wouldn't give it a rest?"

I purse my lips and look away because _yes,_ I remember that party and _yes,_ I remember Leah talking to Edward as though I wasn't standing a few inches away from him. And _yes,_ I remember the way I felt when Alice whispered to me that they had a _thing_ the winter before I moved to Washington.

But I also remember the way Edward wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side and introduced me to her as his girlfriend. It was the first time he had said it to anyone outside of our small group of friends, and it hadn't been spoken in a vindictive way.

" _And_ ," Alice adds and I close my eyes, wishing I could block my ears without her becoming angry, "you can't expect him not to be jealous."

My eyes snap open.

"He wasn't jealous. He was angry at Mike because—"

"Yeah, obviously he was angry," Alice interrupts, waving her hand dismissively. "This is _Edward_ we're talking about. But he was definitely jealous."

"Of _what_?" I ask, because I'm _with_ Edward and he _knows_ that so what is there to be jealous of? He knows I would never want to be with Mike again, but Alice scoffs and I think she's hearing something I didn't.

"' _While you were locked away in prison, I was having hot sex with your girl',_ " Alice says, doing her best impression of Mike which is the impression she uses for any boy she thinks is dimwitted—mainly her older brother.

I blush and look away. "I didn't think he would…" I trail off when Alice lets out a short laugh.

"I think you're traumatized by how he used to be," she says. "Think about it—if he hadn't changed at _all_ , he would have fought Mike no matter what you said. He would have given you that look and stepped around you and left you there crying, calling for him to come back." She tilts her head in my direction. " _Right_?"

I force a breath through my nose because she's _right_ and she knows she is. If that had been the old Edward, we would have never made it back inside of the building. More importantly, Mike would have never made it out of our sight.

"I think you need to give him a little more credit." Alice thinks for a second. "Or at least believe in him a little more."

I can't help but to laugh. "What happened to the Alice that hates Edward?"

The way she looks at me makes me suspicious and then she's getting off of the stool in her kitchen and putting the bowl from her ice cream in the sink. She starts cleaning, so I _know_ she's keeping something from me. I move from my own stool and lean against the counter beside her, staring at her profile until she gives up the farce.

She glances at me quickly. "I have a confession," she says.

I've had more than enough of these in the past few months of my life, so I feel like a pro at taking news without showing much emotion.

"Edward and I are still friends."

I nearly sputter on nothing, thankful that I hadn't been eating my ice cream at the moment.

"Well, Edward and _Jasper_ are still friends and I—well, you know how it is. You get dragged along." She rolls her eyes as though recounting the times she's had to spend with Edward and Jasper. She puts the glass in the strainer and turns to look at me, her expression contrite. "Are you mad?"

I blink a few times before righting myself. "I just don't…understand…"

Alice shrugs and grabs the towel from the rack, wringing it between her hands nervously. "That summer that you left him…" she shakes her head, her brow crinkling. "Bella, that fucked him up. I don't think you even realize how messed up he was after that. I mean, he and Jasper had been friends for so long and Jasper reached out because he _knew_ how bad it could get and…" she trails off and shrugs again, forcing a smile. "And here we are."

"But I don't understand," I repeat, my mind moving a mile a minute because Edward never said anything to me about this. _Emmett_ never said anything to me about this. Suddenly I'm wondering if Charlie knew…if my _mother_ knew.

"Jasper went down to Florida before Edward was arrested. We never visited him in jail, but I don't think he wanted us to visit him. And then when _you_ started visiting him…" she glances at me like she's afraid she's going to say something she shouldn't, but the look on my face makes her continue on. "He asked Emmett to ask us not to say anything to you. I think he didn't want you to think he was betraying you by befriending us again. Well," she laughs softly, "if you can even really _call_ it befriending. He never went out with us. I don't think he even really wanted us around, but Jasper was determined to keep him…above water, I guess."

Everything she's telling me is making me feel sick to my stomach, and not for the reasons she'd think. I don't care that they were friends with him—I'm glad he had someone, but I can't imagine what would have happened to him if Jasper and Alice hadn't tried. I'm already swallowing back tears when I glance back up at her.

"Thank you for being there for him," I whisper and Alice grins.

"When Jasper gets back, it'll be like old times," she says. "Maybe we can even go back to the diner and they can steal food from our plates."

I can't help but to smile because the image is so vivid and so _good_ that it makes me want to cry all over again and smiling is the only way to keep myself from doing so.


	88. Dreams

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Hi…I had this chapter written out a multitude of ways because I wasn't sure how I wanted it to play out, but I think I have it as I want it now, so here you go :)**

 **Also, sorry this isn't a NEW update, I had to fix something in this chapter. I had been bouncing between Leah and Kate for a while and realized that in the previous chapter I had gone with Leah, and in this one I went with Kate...oops.**

* * *

The phone barely even rings once before he's answering with a breathless plea of my name on his tongue. I bite my lip, staring at my own reflection in the mirror on my vanity, remembering what it felt like when he would stare back, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"Hi," I manage to say, though guilt and uncertainty is racking me by the second.

" _You didn't text,_ " is his reply. He sounds how I feel. It breaks my heart.

"I know," I sigh. "I'm sorry. I went to see Alice and I…I shouldn't have gone to see her—well, I _should_ have because she talked me down—but I should have talked to _you_ instead and I'm sorry I always run when I should just let you explain and…" I trail off because I'm rambling and I have nothing else to say other than, "I'm sorry, Edward."

He's silent for the span of five heartbeats and I choke back a sob.

His voice breaks through the hysteria. _"Why are you apologizing?"_

"Because I ran—I didn't even _try_ —"

" _I fucked you out of anger. It wasn't right. I shouldn't have touched you."_ The way his voice lowers on the word 'fucked' has a warmth spreading through me and I groan, desperate and frustrated at the same time.

"If I had said no, you would have stopped," I retort; snap, really because I'm mad that he's taking this all on him, that I've made him _feel_ like this is all on him. "I wanted you," I whisper, "and you're allowed to be angry and jealous and whatever else you feel when you see someone I was with." I wince on my words and can practically hear him do the same. "But you don't need to be jealous because he didn't mean anything to me."

" _You told me you loved him."_ His response is direct and I know he's thinking about the time Mike came with me to a visitation.

"He was convenient, Edward, no matter how horrible that sounds. I was trying to get over you."

He doesn't say anything for a while and then his voice is so low that I almost have to strain to hear.

" _Could you have?"_

I laugh. I can't help it. It's not a joyous sound, but a laugh nonetheless.

"Two years apart and I'm still desperately in love with you. Can that be my answer?" He makes a sound on the other line, somewhere between a scoff and a groan. "It wasn't fair of me to expect you to just…have no emotions, and I'm sorry."

" _I love you,"_ he answers and I smile to myself, closing my eyes to bask in his words because I've fucking _missed_ hearing him say this to me. I've missed relishing in the honesty to his words, the undeniable truth of his words as they rush over me. He loves me, and I him.

"You're a good person, Edward. Don't let jail or your dad or your feelings or _me_ make you think any differently. I love you more than anyone, more than life itself."

His silence is less foreboding this time and his eventual response makes me smile. " _Fuck…I love you, beautiful girl."_

I make a small sound of contentment in the back of my throat.

" _It's late—you should sleep. Can I see you tomorrow?"_

I grin. "I'll be here, waiting."

When I fall asleep, it's with a full heart, a warm soul, hopes of good dreams, but when I wake it's in the dark by a cool hand, a soft press against my mattress.

I blink, trying to wake, to make sense of what is happening but his lips are at my ear, his fingers against my cheek. "Sleep," he whispers to me and I move closer to him as he wraps my blankets around us tighter, losing myself in his embrace.

He's cold from the outside, though the night air is hardly chilled and I wrap my feet around his, wanting to warm him as much as I can. He sighs, shifts slightly and then my head falls right in that area I love, the space between his shoulder and throat that seems it was made to fit me perfectly. _We_ fit perfectly.

"'member Leah?" I mumble around the sleep that's eating away at my brain. He shifts again, pulling me closer and hums an answer before shushing me, but I fight the exhaustion because he needs to know he's not the only one. "I was jealous," I sigh. "I still am."

His chest expands quickly and I think maybe he's laughing and then I feel his lips on my brow, my closed eyes, my nose, finally my lips. I kiss back, but he pulls away.

"I missed you," he whispers, "go back to sleep. Don't be jealous; you have my heart."

I don't need any more convincing than that as I drift to the sound of his soft breaths, his slowing heart.

He's better than any dream I could have conjured.


	89. Leah

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Hi…so sorry for the lack of updates. I've been on vacation for two weeks (Grand Canyon!) and haven't had time to really write anything. Plus, I think my family would have killed me.**

* * *

 _ **High School: Junior year, November**_

 _I'm beginning to gather that Jake's is the type of house that people just end up at, no matter the time of night. It seems his dad is never around, and when he is, he's usually somewhere in the midst of people._

 _Alice bumps her shoulder with mine and I glance over at her. She bites her lip to hide her grin. "Told you that skirt would look good on you."_

 _I blush because I know she saw Edward's hand roam down my spine, lingering before trailing lower and squeezing. He had kissed me, stifling my groan and reddening face, but apparently not well enough. I slap her arm and bury my face._

" _Oh, please, Bella," she snorts and then laughs. I'm just glad Edward isn't here to hear her. "What is_ taking _them so long?" We both glance over the taller heads to try and spot Edward and Jasper. They had maneuvered in almost as soon as we got here to swipe up some beer and cider before it vanished. "Ah!" Alice grabs my arm and we're moving surprisingly well through the throngs._

 _I see him before he sees me and, like always, my stomach does this flip where it feels like I could faint. How is it fair that he looks like that, even in the stifling heat from so many people? Then it's in my throat when he glances up, grabs two beers, and makes his way for us, his eyes never leaving mine. Jasper is still in the throng._

" _Uh oh," I hear Alice whisper, her grip on my arm tightening. A girl walks over before I have a chance to question Alice, before Edward takes the last two steps to reach us—me. She's in front of him, her hand coming to rest on his bicep and he flashes me a hesitant glance._

 _The stomach in my throat feeling turns into acid._

" _Leah," Alice fills in when I look at her. She shrugs and Jasper appears, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He takes in my expression and follows Alice's line of vision. I study his expression, but he's relatively unmoved despite a slight widening to his eyes._

 _Edward's smiling a bit as the girl, Leah, hangs off him. He's trying to move around her and Alice is biting on the inside of her lip._

" _What?" I demand, already annoyed by a number of things._

" _Edward and Leah kind of had a thing…before you got here."_

 _The blood rushes from my face. "What kind of thing?" I'm not close enough to hear what Leah is saying, but she's still touching him._

" _I don't know." Alice shakes her head, sipping from the can Jasper handed her. "Not a_ thing _, thing. Just a…thing."_

" _He's had things with a lot of girls," I say. Neither of them answer. "This was different?"_

" _She hung out with us a few times," Jasper says eventually._

 _I swallow back the bile, watching them together. He's not really reacting, but that's not very telling._

" _Did he like her a lot?"_

 _Alice shrugs. "You know how Edward can be." He's side stepped her by now, moving closer to us, to me, though she tags along. She's talking animatedly, watching him for any reaction, but his eyes are on me. I smile, though I just want to cry. She's so pretty and tall and…_

" _You okay?" Edward asks me, interrupting my thoughts, interrupting Leah. She glances over at me like she had barely realized I was there._

" _Yeah." He hands me a bottle and my smile isn't so forced. He smiles back, pulls me into his side._

" _Leah, this is Bella."_

 _Not surprisingly, she looks me up and down, narrowing her eyes. I had done the same to her moments before._

" _Hi," I say, hating how soft and shy my voice is._

 _Edward only chuckles and then wraps his arm around my neck, pulling me into his side. He kisses my temple, but my eyes stray to Leah. It's harder to focus when his lips find my ear._

" _So, are you…?" Leah glances from Edward, to me, to his arm around my neck. His face is still turned into my hair when he answers._

" _My girlfriend."_

 _My heart soars and I can see Alice grin from my periphery. It's the first time he's called me that. I try to quell my own smile because I can see the disappointment falling across Leah's face. Losing Edward would be a lot to handle._

" _Hm." She forces a smile. "Nice to meet you." She's gone without a second glance and I feel badly for her, but Edward is already turning to look down at me. He leans down, presses his lips to mine._

" _Wanna walk down the beach?"_

" _Is there a bonfire?" I ask, confused. I hadn't heard about one and most of the guys that live on the Reservation are in Jake's house, but he's kissing me again so the curiosity vanishes._

" _No," he says and then kisses me harder. All worry vanishes._


	90. Beach

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

I know exactly what has happened when I wake up and I'm terrified. Quickly, without waking Edward, I scramble from my bed to stare out of my window. It looks over the driveway—which is empty. I breathe a sigh of relief and can only hope my parents didn't check in on me before leaving for work.

I move back to Edward, curling myself into him. He's always looked so peaceful when asleep, like he hasn't had the roughest of childhoods. I kiss him gently and he stirs. I smile at him when he blinks up at me.

"Sorry," he says and his voice is still deep with sleep. "I needed to see you."

I only grin and kiss him again, moving to his throat. The stubble there tickles and he pulls away from me. "What is this?"

I blink, my hand moving to the spot on my neck he is staring at. The hickies. I never covered them after showering last night. "From that first night…" I say and Edward's face darkens.

"I didn't know," he says quietly but I kiss him to silence him because I can hear the regret, the self-hatred building in his tone.

"I kind of like it. I liked that first night." He bites my bottom lip this time when I kiss him and then presses against me. I blush. I think I'll always have this reaction, no matter what.

His hands start to roam beneath my shirt and I stiffen just a little. "Edward, I'm too sore."

He pulls in a breath through his nose and I can see where his mind has fallen. Yesterday, in my dorm room. He thinks he was too rough. I press a hand over his mouth so he won't speak. "No, I just hadn't…in a while…"

His brow furrows and he talks around my palm, "You and Mike?"

I shake my head. "Not very often." I take back my hand. "And not for a while."

But he's kissing me again and then running his fingers lightly over my ribs. "Let me make you feel good," he whispers and then is slowly kissing down my body, moving my clothing as he goes. When he kisses my inner thighs, my stomach does that thing it does when you're on a rollercoaster. "Should I give you matching ones here?" My breathing is staggered when he kisses me there.

Later, we shower and decide to spend the day at the beach in La Push. It feels like old times, like past summers and it feels _really_ good. I watch as Jacob Black jogs by before doing a double take. I glance over, but Edward hasn't seen him. He will in a few seconds.

"Hey, man!" They do one of their handshakes, the kind all guys seem to know and Jake slaps Edward on the back. He looks at me and his eyes go wide. "Dude, you guys…?"

Edward rolls his eyes and punches Jake on the shoulder. I laugh.

"Get out of here, man," Edward says but his eyes are bright green and I know he's happy to see Jake.

Jacob laughs too, shaking his head before taking back off down the beach. "It's true love—told you not to worry, E!" he hollers. "It's like a fairytale!"

My laughter sparks Edward's. I curl myself into his side, kicking up sand as I move. "I like Jake," I say to his shoulder. "He's a good friend."

The corner of Edward's mouth lifts as he stares out over the ocean. "Yeah."

Speaking of…

I sit up. "Alice told me you and Jasper are still friends."

He doesn't answer, doesn't look at me, but his jaw tightens. I run a finger up and down his toned arm. "I'm not mad," I whisper. "Why didn't you tell me, though?"

He runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, you and Alice practically hated each other. I didn't want that to come between us anymore than…"

"Than I already did," I finish for him and smile sadly. His eyes study mine for a moment before he kisses me, pressing his palm to the side of my face. My stomach flips in on itself and I feel like throwing up. "It's my fault you guys got into that fight. Alice never said that to me," I say quickly.

I can see he's confused and my traitor eyes start tearing. "That day you came into my room, I was crying because…because my mom made me write a pros and cons list of being with you—I'm sorry, please don't be mad." I grab onto the arm that he had start to pull away.

"What happened to it?" he asks through gritted teeth.

"She threw it away."

"Why?"

I sigh and rest my forehead against his shoulder. "Because I packed the pros list and it wasn't the reaction she wanted, I don't think."

"But it gave you second thoughts about us. About me." His voice isn't angry, so I sneak a glance up at him. He's smiling. Not a _real_ smile; a faint one, but a smile nonetheless. "It's okay," he says. "It's in the past. Besides," he twists away from me, staring back out over the water again, "your mom and I talked on the way to your school. I think we came to a better understanding of each other."

"What about?"

This time, his smile is wider; the one that pulls the left side of his mouth higher. "I think it's something you should ask her about."

I sigh because I'd rather hear it from Edward than have to pull it from my mother. "Okay."

"She understands you more than you think, Bella."

I snort, because I doubt that, but Edward ruffles my hair and leans into me, and I forget everything except him and _us_ and the beach.


	91. Deserted

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **WOW. I wish I had an excuse...but I don't. I'm hoping to finish up with this story over another ten chapters or so. I have about three to post now and another three drafted, so I promise to get at least one out tomorrow.**

* * *

 _I listen to Charlie and my mother bickering from the kitchen hallway. They're trying to keep their voices low so as not to disturb us, but I've not been able to sleep a single second the entire night._

" _He's not staying in her room, Charles," my mother insists, her tone irate._

 _Charlie makes a huffing sound and I can imagine his mustache fluffing up at the ends. "Then we'll setup the guest room, Renee." He scoffs. "Honestly, the kid just lost his mother."_

" _She left the family. She didn't die. And from what I've heard, maybe those kids are better off."_

" _How can you even—"_

" _You were the one who TOLD me about his parents when they first started dating, Charlie!"_

" _Because you wouldn't let the subject go!"_

" _Oh, that's right, because you think you can—"_

 _I step around the corner before my mom can say something she'll regret. Her words cut off as they both turn to me, My mother, bleary-eyed; Charlie, exasperated._

" _Go back to bed, honey," my mother starts but I cross my arms, planting myself because there's no way in hell I'm going to let her rule over this as well._

" _He's only staying for the night." Not that I have a time constraint for him, but it's the exact words he told me when he passed through my window three hours ago, his eyes rimmed red, a nasty bruise forming on his lower left jaw._

 _Emmett forced him to come here; he knew Edward couldn't stay at home until their father calmed down._

 _My mother nods but I can see the questions burning in her eyes: When did she leave? Why did she leave? Did they know she was going to?_ Will _they be better off? I hope she doesn't ask any of them because I don't have an answer to a single one._

" _How is he?" Charlie asks, folding his arms, too. He's an officer now, as he had been when Edward showed up; when my parents had heard me crying from their bedroom. Edward had been a stone while I explained over my sobs. On the outside, he seemed unaffected but I knew him well enough. He was broken inside._

 _I shrug with one shoulder. "Sleeping." In my bed, which apparently is causing a bit of an uproar._

" _I'll talk with him when he's up…if he wants. His brother, too. There's some…uh, pamphlets. Help groups. It's not something they have to go through alone."_

" _He's not alone," is my immediate response, despite the tears forming in my eyes—again. But I know Charlie's coming from a place of heart, almost as much as I know neither of the Cullen brothers would ever take him up on his offer. They've been practically trained from birth to depend on themselves alone._

 _My mother's been eerily silent and when I finally look at her, she has the audacity to look embarrassed. "Bella, I…"_

" _He's staying for as long as he needs to." I finalize my words by turning and running back up the stairs. I know she'll reprimand me later for my tone of voice, but at the moment I couldn't care less._

 _He's still sleeping, his chest pressed to the mattress, his arms bent and buried by the pillow. He looks so peaceful, it's almost daunting to compare his face now to how he looked a couple of hours ago. I lay down next to him again, trying not to stir him, but inevitably wake him._

 _He peers over at me, eyes bleary before dropping his head, closing his eyes. "Stop crying."_

 _I can't help it. I cry harder. He pulls me against him and I bury my face in his shoulder. "I'm sorry." I'm sorry for a lot of things, namely not being strong enough when he needs me to be._

 _He swallows hard. "She was practically nonexistent even when she was around," is all he says, but I can hear the break in his voice and I know he doesn't want to talk about it, so I bury myself against his side until his breathing evens out and he falls back to sleep._

 _I kiss whatever skin I can reach. It's not enough, but I don't know what else to do. I don't know how to help him. I know, if he were awake, he'd say I'm doing exactly what he needs—being there for him; holding him; loving him, but it still doesn't feel like enough._

 _His world is being torn apart and I've never felt more useless._

 _I still haven't slept when he wakes in the morning and I think he can tell. He lets me ask him about his jaw and tells me what I already know._

" _I shouldn't have blamed him, I guess," he mutters, staring at my hair as it moves across the pillow when I sit up to look at him. He catches a piece, twirls it. He looks at me and smiles that half-grin, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Should never fight with a drunk."_

 _We both skip school that day and my mom, surprisingly, calls in for us. She sends me a warning glance on her way out the door, but Charlie's still here, so she's not that worried. I beg him not to bring up the help groups and brochures and therapists, but he does anyway because he needs to find a way to help. Like expected, Edward takes the information with a tight smile, but I see him throw it into Emmett's junk pile when he comes to pick him up that night. I follow him to the car, sad and desperate for him to stay longer, but he shakes his head, whispering an excuse about my mom, and his dad._

 _He kisses me, whispers a thank you and tells me he loves me and I wonder if a heart can burst from too much feeling._


	92. Mend

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

After I drop Edward off at Emmett's apartment, I drive straight home. I'm desperate to know what kind of conversation took place between my mother and Edward on their ride to my school, and I could barely get any information out of Edward.

Emmett dropped a pair of keys into Edward's hand as soon as we got through the door. His Celica. He was thrilled, though only rewarded Em with "Thanks, man." I wondered how their dad felt about it. He must not have put up too much of an argument because Emmett didn't greet us with a black eye.

Charlie greets _me_ with a ruffle to my hair and it makes me think again about how much those two have missed out on good parents.

My mom is in the kitchen and she smiles when I sit at the counter. We've been careful around each other, like we're trying to figure each other out. It's a new relationship but it seems to have a positive future. I think she's trying to keep in mind that I'm an adult; I can make my own decisions. And I'm trying to keep in mind that I'm her only daughter, and it's hard to let go.

"Cookie?" She hands me one she just took out of the oven. It's warm and soft and reminds me of childhood. I pick at it.

"Mom?" She glances up at me, though I don't meet her gaze. "What did you and Edward talk about on the way to my school?"

She takes a breath and dries her hands. Leaning against the sink, she stares at me. "I told him the truth," she shrugs.

That gets my attention. "What truth?"

"That I'm—we're—too controlling of you." I'm about to argue, but she puts up her hand. "He agreed." She smiles. "We both agreed. I thought he was trying to take you from me; he always thought I was trying to take you from him." She rolls her eyes when I give her a look. "Alright, so I thought you could do better when you were first together, Bella. I'm your mother; I'm always going to think that."

"He's good for me, mom," I say quietly, staring down at chocolate chips. I'd rather count each chipped piece in the cookie than get into this age-old argument, but she surprises me.

"And you're good for him," she says. "He cares a great deal for you, Bella. It took a while for me to see, but once I took off my mom-glasses and put on my unbiased-glasses, it was easier to see." She laughs a little to herself and turns back to the sink while I sit, staring at her back.

It's hard to believe this is the same woman I got into so many fights with over Edward. Over everything, really. But she's still a mother and, despite her sudden desire to remain unbiased, I still, secretly, want her advice. "Do you think we'll last?"

She looks at me over her shoulder, probably because my voice was so quiet and probably because she isn't used to me asking her things like this. She smiles, pressing her lips together tightly. "Do _you_ think you'll last?"

I don't even have to think about it for long. "I want to," I say, my voice filled with conviction.

She smiles. "Then why wouldn't you? If you think the two of you are worth fighting for—and I think you've more than proved that—then I'm sure you'll both find a way."

I grin and slide from the stool. "Thanks, mom."

She smiles back and I watch her eyes slide involuntarily to Charlie, who's been sitting in the other room, pretending to read the paper.

There's a smile on his lips as well.


	93. Unforeseen

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

I glare over at Edward who just shrugs, burying his hands deep into his pockets, hood over his head. "A _party_? And you knew?"

He smirks. "A _surprise_ party. She told me to keep you distracted."

I frown because I didn't _want_ a graduation party. I don't even know who she could have invited, but as to the numerous cars piled alongside our street, it seems like she invited the whole town.

"I'm sure she'd love to know how you kept me distracted," I grumble and his smile widens before he pushes me forward towards the front door which is decorated with balloons and banners.

"You deserve it," he whispers into my ear as he dips to pull his hood off.

"The party or what you did to me an hour ago?" It's my turn to grin when he scowls at me.

"Both," he says and then steers me into the kitchen where everyone is huddled around the counter—and the massive cake on top of it. I don't even have to act surprised, because I am, more so by the fact that it seems my mom _did_ invite the entire town and the fact that Alice is here with Jasper, and Emmett is here, surprisingly, with Rosalie.

She grins when she sees me and I can already tell by the look on her face that her first impression of Emmett has already changed.

I spend the majority of the party receiving congratulations and thanking adults that I barely remember and I can feel the eyes of some on Edward and I, probably surprised that we're together, but I ignore the looks and after a few hours, the party has wound down to my mom and Charlie's friends in the kitchen, steadily drinking and laughing, while Alice, Jasper, Edward, Emmett, Rose and I hang out in the backyard.

I had been worried but, needless to say, Rose and Alice love each other.

Jasper goes into detail about his scoutings on the field when Emmett takes a call and comes back, telling Edward they should go. I can tell by their faces that it's something serious. Something that Edward knew about and didn't tell me.

When they leave, I'm far from absorbed in the party and Alice tries to distract me by telling Rosalie stories from high school. Rose and Alice stay the night after Jasper leaves and I grill Rosalie on her and Emmett, only to be met with demure smiles. She asks if I'd disapprove and I tell her no. Of course I wouldn't. Emmett _needs_ someone like Rosalie; someone who will take care of him the way he's taken care of everyone in his life. It's early, but I'm happy for them. For him.

Late in the night, when Rosalie is asleep, Alice whispers to me from her pillow. "Do you know what that was about?"

I shake my head and she doesn't ask anything else while I wait impatiently from a call or text from Edward. It doesn't come until early in the morning and it's just a few simple lines, with no emotion.

 _I'm fine_ , he replies to my slightly-panicked text from earlier in the night. Then, so nonchalantly: _My mom called Emmett. She's at the apartment._

I don't know what to say, so I try to call to see if he needs me or my dad or…I don't know what he _could_ possibly need, but I want to help. His phone goes straight to voicemail and I hang up without leaving a message, knowing that I'm going straight to the apartment once Alice and Rose leave in the morning.


	94. Express

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

He opens the door before I even have a chance to knock, glances quickly inside, then steps out and shuts the door. He doesn't want me inside.

"Is she in there?" I ask.

"Yeah."

I wait for further explanation. "…Is she back for good?"

Edward shakes his head. "Not with my dad. She has a place in Oregon. Met some guy there."

I stare at him because I don't know what else to do. "Did she bring him here?"

Again, he shakes his head but I can see something burn behind his green eyes. I soften. "How do you feel?"

"It's cool she got out, I guess," he shrugs. I can tell he doesn't really want a full on discussion about this, but I'm not about to let the bombshell that his mother just reappeared in his life fade into nothing.

"Yeah, but she," I look behind him and lower my voice, "…she left you and Em to fend for yourselves against your dad."

"She didn't do anything when she was there, anyways," he says. I don't understand why he's being so nonchalant about this. I'd always known he doesn't expression many emotions easily, other than anger, of course, and I start to wonder what he's hiding behind.

I cross my arms. "Are you going with her? To Oregon?"

"I can't leave Washington," he says cryptically.

I scoff and smile lightly. "Your parole is up in a month, Edward."

It's the subtle side-eye that he gives me; the slight change to the control of the muscle in his jaw and I can see everything laid out before me as though he wrote his feelings and thoughts on the mat in front of the door. The fear, the unwillingness, the uncertainty….

I shake my head and stare up into his cautious eyes. "This can't be about me," I say; demand.

"You're starting work in Port Angeles in a month," he says through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to another fucking state."

I take a breath, knowing that if this is going to work, if I'm going to be able to convince him that he needs to do this—to be with his mom, to get away from his dad—then I'm going to need to sound convincing. And tearing up is not going to help anything, nor will focusing on the idea of living so far from him—again. "We'll make it, Edward. We've made it through all of _this_ already."

He ignores me. "She wants to pay for the rest of my college."

"In Montana?" I remembered Emmett telling me that Edward had lost his scholarship at MSU, but if his mother is willing to foot the rest of the tuition and fees….

He shakes his head and leans back against the door, letting his head fall back. "In Portland."

It's automatic, the breath I pull in, because I know now that he really does have to go. He can't turn down an opportunity like this. As I look at the ground, holding my arms tight across my chest, I hear him quietly say, "I'm not doing it."

I can't stop the tears that form now, but they don't fall just because I'll miss him. They fall because I know he still doesn't trust me enough. "You have to," I whisper eventually, looking back up at him. "This is your future."

"What about our future?" His jaw ticks in rhythm to his anger, his hurt.

"I'll be there for you through it all, Edward," I promise solemnly. "I'm not…we're not breaking up, okay?"

He doesn't have a chance to answer because the door opens and Esme is standing there, her once distant gaze now happier. "Bella," she smiles and moves to hug me, but Edward blocks her from where he's standing.

"We'll be in, in a second, okay?"

Her smile is a little more forced now, saddened, and she nods before going back inside. I stare at him and he stares at me. I can see we're at an impasse and I don't know how else to move forward other than stepping up and wrapping my arms around his waist. It takes a few seconds, but he hugs me back.

"I promise," I whisper into his shirt. "I promise we'll be okay."


	95. Push

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

Esme looks so much better, healthier than the last time I saw her, almost four years ago.

She's filled out in areas she had lost too much weight and her face is flushed with happiness. Her eyes, I notice, haven't stopped glancing around the room as though she's trying to take in every single detail that she's missed over the past four years.

It's a strange feeling that wells inside of me, looking at her. On one hand, I'm happy she's here, I'm happy she's okay; on the other, I'm angry it's taken her this long. I'm angry she didn't take Emmett and Edward with her when she escaped.

"How have you been?" she asks me quietly, sipping on her tea and glancing surreptitiously at Emmett. She's been doing that a lot. He hasn't glanced her way once from where he sits at the table with Edward.

"I've been okay," I answer and then add, "Better now," when Edward looks at me. His face softens.

She hesitates. "Bella, I…I just wanted to say thank you." Her voice lowers so the other two cannot hear from the table. They're keeping a low conversation, regardless, and I have a feeling it has to do with Esme's reappearance. "Thank you for giving Edward another chance. He loves you and I think he…well, he hasn't had the best relationship to copy off of, as you know." She smiles apologetically.

"I know," I say. "I love him, too. Everything will work out." I tap a finger against the table because discussing Edward and I, and what we went through while she was MIA is not something I had wanted to do. "So, Oregon?"

She smiles and I think she can sense the question burning on the tip of my tongue. "His name is Peter. He's a good man. A doctor." She glances warily at Emmett and I wonder whether he disagrees. Esme shakes her head. "I was not in a good state when I arrived. I jumped on a bus and the next thing I know, I'm waking up in a hospital bed, a blond-haired man looking down at me. I guess I had fallen asleep on the bus and the driver couldn't wake me."

She looks down at her cup and I want to reach across and hold her hand, or touch her arm in the very least, but I don't know how Edward and Emmett feel about her being here, and I don't want to play sides but if I have to, I'll always choose theirs.

"Peter said I was dehydrated and showing signs of exhaustion. Along with the…bruises, he wanted to keep an eye on me, so I stayed with him for a few nights, and…" She smiles again, a genuine grin and shakes her head. "The rest is history, I guess."

I smile back at her, but it's not as easy of a smile because all I can think about is how, while she was fulfilling her life in Portland, her sons were battling the man she left behind. "So, what are you doing in Portland?" I ask, wanting to leave the subject of Peter.

"Working at a boutique." She puts down her cup and folds her arms against the counter. "It's fabulous out there, Bella. You'll have to visit. You and Edward together."

My eyes automatically move to Edward. Had he already told her he wasn't going to move with her? Had he already turned down her offer to pay for school? I don't want to ask right now, but I can tell by the way he stares at the table that my assumptions are right.

It isn't until Esme leaves a few hours later for the motel she had booked that I'm able to talk to Edward about any of this. Emmett leaves for work—a night shift that I'm almost positive he did not originally have scheduled—and I'm straddling Edward on his bed. He's doing a good job of keeping the topic from straying anywhere near his mother, but when I right my clothing and place my palms on either side of his face so he can't turn away from me, he takes his hands out from beneath my shirt.

"Have you met Peter before?" I ask because it surprises me that it's taken Esme four years to gain the courage to talk about him, but Edward only shakes his head. "You think he's good for her?"

He shrugs around me. "She seems happier. And I'm happy for her."

"What about Emmett?"

His eyes harden. "He doesn't think it's fair that she lived this happy, normal life for the past four years without any contact."

I nod, because ultimately I agree, and then I can't hold it back any longer. I push the topic he's been dead set against. "You have to go, Edward. Once your parole is up, you _have_ to go."

It surprises me when tears form in his eyes, even more when he swallows and then whispers, "I know." I press myself to him, curling my fingers into his hair.

"We still have a month," I whisper. "And you only have a full year left, right? It'll be over before you know it. And I'll visit. Spring break? I'll be there." I smile at him, but he doesn't reciprocate. He falls forward and buries his face between my neck and shoulder.

"I don't want to leave you," he mumbles after a few seconds. "I'm terrified of leaving you."

I pull back; make him look at me again. "We'll make it work. I know it didn't before, but we were younger and careless. We didn't communicate. But we will this time, right?"

He sighs and kisses me. It's fast, but filled with emotions he's trying to hold back. "I'm going to fucking miss you," he breathes against my mouth. "I just got you back and now I'm going to leave you."

"For a year," I remind him softly. I brush a hand over his hair, down his face to his jaw. "Then you'll come back and we'll find some place together. Wherever we end up."

He closes his eyes and I pull him back to me, smiling through the tears that form and fall.

"Maybe Oregon will be good for you," I whisper. _Maybe Peter will be good for you._


	96. Exasperate

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Okay. Hello. First off, some of you have been asking whether I plan on finishing this story, and the answer to that is YES. Even though it doesn't seem like it. I know I haven't been posting much and I wish I could have something to blame other than just work and school and life itself, but really, I'm just a shitty updater.**

 **So, yes, I am planning on finishing this story and I will definitely let you guys know if I decide to discontinue (which I won't; I'm almost finished here, anyways).**

 **So, again, I'm so sorry for the lack of updates, but thank you all for keep me on my toes and continuing to read. I'm going to try and spend the rest of this long weekend updating and, hopefully, finishing.**

 **Thank you all so much.**

* * *

 _ **College: Freshmen Year**_

" _When do you go back?"_

 _I glance unnecessarily at the calendar hanging in my bedroom. It's our first spring break, and a week off of college was just what I had needed. I thought it was just what_ we _had needed too, but now I'm not so sure._

 _"Two days."_

 _Even though I'm sitting against his chest on the floor of my room, I can practically hear him frowning. And then I can feel when he brings a hand up to run through his hair that he's agitated. I'm not sure what to say or do. He has to go back to school, too, so it's not like I'm the one leaving him, but the last time either of us had any sort of discussion like this—anything outside of the realm of sex and alcohol and the Reservation—we fought. We've been fighting a lot lately. Well,_ I've _been fighting a lot lately._

 _Edward clears his throat and I can feel his pulse pick up from where my back touches his chest._

" _Come back to Forks," is all he says. I turn to look over my shoulder at him. His eyes are earnest, his face unsure._

" _What do you mean?" I study the slight lowering of his eyebrows. "I'm in Forks now."_

" _No, I mean…" he lifts the small joint he had been babysitting for the past ten minutes to his mouth and takes a drag. I stare at his lips. "Finish out your school here. Community."_

 _I stare at him. I can't help it. He's not making any sense so I stand up quickly. "You're fucking high, Edward." I know he's not. He's barely had anything, but just the idea of what he's proposing…_

 _He grabs my wrist before I can get too far from him and let's go when I focus on him. "I'm not high, I just…"_

" _You just don't trust me," I finish for him._

" _What?"_

" _You don't trust me."_

 _He stands up so that we're on the same level, though he's a head taller than me._

" _Yes, I do. What the fuck are you talking about?"_

 _I shake my head, reliving the last month and a half. "That phone call? About that guy—my lab partner? You were pissed. You thought he'd try to hook up with me. You thought_ I'd _try to hook up with_ him _." The last part didn't come directly from his mouth, but I know it appeared in his thoughts._

 _He doesn't answer, only stares down at me before scoffing. "Fuck this." He starts to leave but it's my turn to grab him now. To make sure he doesn't walk out of my room without saying what's actually on his mind for once._

" _We're talking about this, Edward."_

 _I watch his jaw clench once, twice, three times, though he's staring out the window. Quickly he turns to me, glaring, his hand rubbing over his jaw, over the stubble that just, half an hour ago, was rubbing against the inside of my thighs. It's what we do best. Fuck when we need to talk._ _"I'd come back to community for you," he says. "I'd drop everything for you."_

 _I pull at my hair and groan. My bed creaks when I drop to it heavily. "That's not how it works, Edward, and you know it."_

 _I barely get the words out before he's moving towards me, bending to grab my face, his palms on either side. "It is like that, Bella," he says hotly. "It's exactly like that. If you had told me to stay in Washington, I would have."_

 _I'm quick to retort, even faster to pull my face from his grasp. "I shouldn't have to tell you anything. And you can't tell_ me _anything, Edward. I'm staying at my school whether or not you come back to Forks. I like it there. I like my professors and the friends I've made."_

 _I don't know if my words are hurtful, or wrong in any way, but I feel like they are because I can picture my mom's face as I say them. And she's grinning in triumph._

 _Edward's jaw ticks once before he makes to grab for his keys._

" _So now you're leaving," I state. There's no question to it. When I get angry…when he gets angry, he leaves. We don't talk. We ignore. I cross my arms and try not to let the angry tears I know are waiting to fall, fall._

" _Yeah," he mutters, and I can see the irritation written clear as day on his face. "Gotta pack. Maybe I'll see you later." And then he leaves without kissing me goodbye or telling me it was stupid to ask me to move back home._

 _I throw myself back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling in exasperation. I don't know how much longer I can stand this._

 _The tears build, and fall._


	97. Better

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

"You nervous?"

I turn, stretching my arms over my knees. We've been sitting on the beach for the past hour, and the waves are making me sleepy. I smile at him. "No."

He grins and I know he knows I'm lying.

I drop my head to my knees, looking at him from the corner of my eye. "What if I forget everything? I feel like I didn't even learn anything in college." I sigh and stare up at the dark blue sky. It's just before sunset and the air is getting cold. "How am I supposed to be ready for the real world?"

Edward laughs and pulls me against him, kissing the side of my head. "You'll be fine, Bella. You're smart. You'll figure it out."

"What about you?" I ask, wanting to stray from the impending topic of starting my new job, and first _real_ job, tomorrow in Port Angeles. Editing for a magazine. How am I supposed to edit when I can barely even remember what I learned in my last four years of English courses? "Have you started packing for Portland?"

"I'm not leaving for another three weeks." Edward picks up a stone and tosses it across the sand. I know he's still upset about leaving me. "'Sides, I gotta grab the rest of my stuff from my dad's."

I pull away from him and stare in silent horror. I hadn't known this. I thought he had all of his stuff at the apartment. "Can't Emmett do it?"

"He's done enough for me." Another rock, further this time. Angrier.

"Yeah, but he has a smaller chance of getting into a fight with your dad." He glances down at me, his green eyes almost luminescent against the orange glow from the sun over the ocean. "You just got off parole, Edward. Don't put yourself in that situation."

He looks away from me back towards the water and for a second I think he's going to ask me to drop the subject, but he doesn't. "I'm not gonna hide from my dad, Bella." He grabs another stone, holds it in a tight fist, before letting it fall back to the sand beside us.

"Can't you go when he's not home?" I ask, staring at the pebble.

I look up when he laughs, because I know he isn't amused. "When's that?"

I bite my lip. "I'm coming with you."

"Absolutely not." His answer is instantaneous.

"Charlie, then." Surely, with a man of the law, Mr. Cullen wouldn't try anything too asinine, but Edward only shakes his head.

"Why? Edward, I don't trust him." He doesn't answer this time. "Does he know you're leaving?"

He shrugs halfheartedly. I know he doesn't care about what his dad thinks, but I do. I do, because I don't want it to come back on Edward and Emmett.

"Does he know your mom came back?"

He shrugs again and I want to scream in frustration, but he continues. "I don't know. Whatever he knows is because of Emmett. You'd have to ask him."

"You think he knows about Peter?" I can't picture Emmett talking about Peter to anyone, much less his father.

"Probably not," Edward agrees. He hasn't spoken about Peter since Esme returned and left a few days later, with a promise to be back in two months. Just before the start of the new school year. I have a spike of anxiety just thinking about it; about leaving Edward, about him being in another state again...

"Do you think he'd be mad?" He makes a face and I lick my dry lips "Sorry. I'll stop talking about it."

He smiles and I'm surprised to see that it's genuine. "You can ask me anything, Bella." He sighs. "I don't know. I don't think he'll give a shit. He doesn't seem to miss his family much." He exhales a laugh and it's obvious to see that he doesn't care about anything that has to do with his dad and his dad's feelings. It's nice to see that he's let it all go; that he doesn't let his dad's problems with life take a toll on his own.

I reach up to run a hand through the hair at the back of his head. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

He shrugs. "Not your fault."

I lean forward and kiss him. He kisses me back and I have to pull away before we do something indecent on a public beach. I laugh. "Aren't you hanging out with Jas and Jake?"

He grins and presses his lips to mine once more. "Yeah, tonight. Said they wanna get me hammered now that I'm off parole."

I roll my eyes, but laugh anyway. I'm happy for him. I'm happy he has Jasper and Jake back. I'm happy Emmett's given him a place to stay for the time being. I'm happy his mom has come back. And, most of all, I'm happy we can be like this with each other. We can be how we were before we went off to college, if not better.

I just hope we can keep up with it when he leaves in a few weeks.


	98. Sides

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **A scene that some of you may have been waiting for?**

* * *

 _ **College: Senior Year**_

 _It's the weekend after Spring Break, so every house, apartment, and dorm room is filled with people and alcohol and weed. Mike's is no different, though the party here is solely on the first floor. I think it makes everyone living here feel better about leaving items in their rooms. It does for me, at least._

 _I've only seen a few people here that I know and want to talk to before I spot Rose, pushing her way through the crowd. Normally I'd smile, but her eyes are focused on me and it makes me think something bad is about to come out of her mouth._

" _Isabella." She's nearly out of breath when she catches up to me. "Isabella, I think—I think he's here."_

" _What?" I glance around quickly, like I'd be able to tell who she's talking about in the sea of faces. "Who?"_

 _She looks behind her and, when she spots Mike with some of his hockey friends, grabs my arm and pulls me from the middle of the party._

" _Him, Isabella," she whisper-yells. "You know who I'm talking about."_

 _I shake my head, even more confused. The only person she could be referring to is Mike, and we both know where he is. "What—I don't—"_

" _Edward, Isabella." My heart feels like it skips a few beats. "Edward's here."_

 _My eyes widen and I look around quickly, expecting to see him right there. But how could he be here? And how could she know he's here? And_ why _is he here? The last question has me paling because, if he actually_ is _here, then I know why he's here. He showed up a few times, days after I had broken up with him._

 _Now, I've finally moved on. And, of course, he's back._

" _I recognized him from the pictures you showed me before. And Isabella," she grabs my arm to keep me from running off like I'm about to do, "I think he's drunk."_

 _Suddenly there's movement and sound out front when there hadn't been before and I can already feel my palms sweating, my stomach moving to my throat. I feel like I'm going to be sick._

" _Please," I say to Rose as she makes to follow me, "keep Mike in here."_

 _She looks like she's going to ignore my request before she sighs, her eyes softening. "Are you gonna be okay?"_

 _I chew my lip. "Yes. I'll be right back, okay?" Because the one thing I know how to do is to deal with Edward when no one else can._

 _Out front there are two guys talking to Edward. Arguing, is more like it._

 _I see him, and I haven't seen him in a few months and it feels like my world shifts on its axis. I ignore everything in me screaming for me to run to him; and screaming, even louder, for me to run away from him, from this entire situation._

 _But I'm the cause of this problem, and I'm probably the only one who can alleviate it._

" _Edward." My voice rings through the dark and he looks up quickly. His expression softens, then hardens and I can see he is drunk with the way he moves towards me. I cross my arms against the cold and look anywhere but at him._

" _So, it's true?" His words are slurred._

 _My arms tighten as I look back at him. "What?"_

" _You and," he motions towards the party, towards the swarm of people starting to huddle around the door, "some guy in there? You move in with him?" His voice is filled with contempt and I don't know if I should roll my eyes, or cry._

" _You're drunk, Edward," I say. "How did you get here?" And, more importantly, how did he know?_

 _He kicks at the ground, moving turf. "Doesn't matter," he mumbles but I can see behind him that beat up old Cadillac I've ridden in so many times throughout high school. Jake is standing next to it. He presses his lips together and holds up two fingers as a wave. He looks apologetic almost, like he was forced to be here._

" _Go home, Edward," I sigh. "Go back with Jake." I turn around to leave, to hide the tears that have started to burn in my eyes but Edward reaches out to grab my arm. He's not rough with me by any means, but he holds on harder than he ever has before._

" _Hey!" There's a new, angrier voice and Mike rushes to where we are, his expression confused, but undoubtedly protective._

 _Edward lets go and sneers. "This him? This the guy you've been fucking?"_

 _I know he's only acting like this because he's drunk and hurt and sad but it doesn't hurt me any less as I turn away from him, wanting to go back to the apartment. I don't want any part of this, especially if he's drunk._

" _Isabella, who the fuck is this?" Mike's annoyed, his eyes looking over Edward as though sizing him up._

" _I—Mike, just…" I reach out to pull him away, to make him leave with me, but he pulls me behind him quickly._

" _Who the fuck are you?" he demands, staring at Edward._

" _Who the fuck are_ you _?" Edward retorts and I peer around the two of them, hoping to catch another glimpse of Jake. I need him to get Edward away, but he's not by his car any longer._

" _Her boyfriend, jerkoff," Mike's saying. "Get the fuck out of here." He looks back at me. "Is this an ex?"_

 _I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Jacob moves from the side, coming up to stand with Edward._

" _Who the fuck is_ this _?" Mike demands, and I can already hear some of his friends making their way over, too. I don't want this to happen. I don't want any of this to happen, but why can't I do something to stop it? Why can't I do anything other than hide behind Mike?_

" _Hey, man, relax." Jake reaches out for Edward. "We're going. Edward, come on."_

" _Get the fuck off me," Edward snaps and pulls his arm back from Jake. He looks at me. Really looks at me and for a moment I question whether he's even intoxicated. His eyes, his expression, are clear and filled with distress. "This what you want?" he asks. "This the kind of guy you want?"_

 _I'm crying. I can't help it, and I hate that I don't have an immediate reason for why the tears are falling. Where was Rosalie? Why didn't she keep Mike inside? "Edward, please," I whisper. "Just go."_

" _Dude, go. She chose me, okay? She chose up. She doesn't want some drunk asshole—" Edward's eyes snap from me to Mike and within an instant, his fist is flying. I scream when I hear his fist connect to Mike's face and I move to step in the middle, to stop them from fighting, but someone is pulling me back._

" _You'll get hurt." Rose's voice sounds so far off and she's saying something about how she lost track of Mike, but all I can pay attention to is the way blood is dripping down Mike's cheek. Edward must have split the skin at his cheekbone. It runs down his shirt._

 _Mike's holding his own and though I know I should be concerned for him since Edward's a fighter, he knows how to hit and avoid, I can't keep my eyes from Edward, knowing that Mike's had years of hockey to hone his own skills._

 _I can't even tell what's happening after a while: who's hitting who, who has the upper-hand, where the blood's coming from. It's a blur of chaos as Mike's friends step in, some to help, some to quell the fight. Jake manages to pull Edward back and his face, like Mike's, is bloody, his hair a mess._

 _I'm grateful Rosalie is with me because I don't know what I'd do right now if she wasn't holding my hand so tightly._

 _But Edward's staring at me as is Mike, so when the police sirens start close by, it's only my reaction either of them see._

" _Good," Mike says with a smile that turns to a grimace as he cradles his hand and wrist. I watch him so I won't look at Edward, because I know I'll do a mental count of every part of his body as I used to do in high school and I know it'll prove to him exactly what he came here to find out._

 _As the sirens get closer, I see Jake trying to get Edward back to the car but they're too late. He knows they'll be tailed down if they leave now, in clear view of the police and it'll be even worse for both of them if they do._

 _I can still feel Edward's eyes at the same time as I feel Mike's hand reach out for mine. With a quick glance, I take it, knowing I have to choose a side._

 _And knowing which side I'll choose._


	99. Jubilant

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

"How long's it been?" Alice hands me the bottle of Sangria we were sharing, her eyebrows raised in question.

"Three months, twelve days," I say. But who's counting?

Rosalie giggles from where she's lying across my bed. "Six hours, three minutes, twenty seconds?"

I laugh and reach behind me to push her foot away from where it hangs over the edge. "Shut up."

"It seems to be going okay, though, right?" Alice asks, making a face as Rose's bare foot moves closer to her. She flicks her big toe.

"Yeah. He seems happy out there. I mean, as happy as he can be, I guess."

It was hard when he first left; hard to _get_ him to leave. He was so against it, living so far apart again, but I tried to remind him that Montana is even further. He hadn't seemed too convinced; Montana had been the end of us last time. But this wasn't last time. This was going to be different—and it already was. Our past was behind us. We're both working through issues, together and alone.

"Well, you talk almost every night so he can't be missing you too much," Rosalie says and then sticks her hand between Alice and I from where we're sitting on the floor of my room to show off her nails. They're now a Barbie pink. They suit her.

Alice scoffs. I'm not sure whether it's because the color is hers, or at what Rosalie said, but what Alice hasn't learned about Rosalie yet is that she isn't like the two of us. Rosalie is plenty happy alone as she is with someone.

"He'll still be happy to see you in a couple of weeks," Alice assures me.

"I know," I laugh. We'd been texting nonstop about where he wants to take me. In all sense of the word. Some of the conversations I end up deleting the next day out of fear of my mom or Charlie somehow accidentally seeing them. Even now, I can feel the heat rush to my face.

"How does he feel about Peter?" Rose asks as she moves off the bed to sit with us. She breaks me from my trance, thankfully. "Emmett still hasn't really said anything about him at all."

I shrug. "He doesn't really say much about him either."

"And for Edward, that's a good sign," Alice adds and we both laugh.

I'm glad to be here with both of them. I haven't seen either of them much since my new job started four months ago. It's hard to get used to a fulltime schedule when I've never had one. Besides, Alice has been busy in Seattle at a fashion designer studio and Rosalie's out in Tacoma with her parents.

"How's Jasper?" I ask Alice. He went back to Florida at the end of August. Training started the first of September. We all had to talk Alice out of skipping her internship to follow him—even Jasper.

"Good." Alice grins. "He got signed."

"When?" Rose and I ask at the same time, our tones shocked. Not that I'm shocked he's been signed—he was always a great pitcher; too good for college baseball—but I can't believe I'm just hearing about it. I wonder if Edward knows.

"Last weekend." She's grinning from ear-to-ear like it's a personal accomplishment. I laugh.

"We'll have to celebrate once everyone's back!"

"Yeah." She looks down at the magazine she had been flipping through, a slight pout pulling her lips down. It's a pretty quick turnaround. "He's excited."

Rosalie notices the change too; her voice lowers. "Where was he signed to?"

"Minor leagues out East." I can tell by her voice that the news is tearing her in two. She's happy for him, but sad to still be apart.

"Anywhere near New York?" I bump against her shoulder, wanting to cheer her up.

She smiles and stretches her legs in front of her. "Yeah, Michigan."

"Hey, that works for you, too then." Rosalie sits up on her heels, excited. "I mean, New York's, like, the fashion capital, isn't it?"

"Well, I mean, Paris..." I can see how hard Alice is working to not be offended that Rosalie didn't know this.

"Oh, yeah." Rose lays back and stares at the ceiling dreamily. "I'd love to see Jasper signed in France." We all laugh and Rose looks back at my alarm clock. "I gotta go shower. Em's taking me out tonight."

"Tell him I said hi," I say as she pushes herself from the floor.

"I will. Don't expect me back tonight." She turns at the door and winks. Alice gags and I stare at her until she raises her eyebrows.

"I'm really glad we're friends again, Alice. You have no idea how much I've missed you." I pause and shake my head. "College was hell without you. Rosalie's too self-centered."

"I heard that!" Rose yells from the bathroom and I laugh.

"No, seriously," I finish. "You guys are my best friends."

Alice has the audacity to roll her eyes and say, "Stop getting sappy on me, Swan," moments after she almost had a melt down over Jasper being signed. I grin and hug her, ignoring her attempts to free herself. She laughs and gives up. "Okay," she says, "I have to go, too. Alex is flying back in tonight. We have to have a family dinner." She gags again and I let go with a laugh.

"Okay. Call me tomorrow so we can plan for the beach."

She salutes me when she stands. "Wouldn't miss an opportunity to sunbath, Bella."

I can't stop smiling, even after they've both left.

I pull out my phone, anticipating the text from Edward. It's a picture of an ice cream stand and for a few seconds I'm confused as to why he's sent it until I read the caption he typed underneath.

 _You still taste like vanilla and strawberries._

I'm afraid my grin is going to sprain my cheeks.


	100. Envelope

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

For the hundredth time, my mom paces in front of my car, chewing on her nails. "Are you sure you don't want me to bring you? I don't mind making a double trip, baby."

I roll my eyes and shut the trunk. You'd think I was going across the country. I pull on her hand to get her to stop biting. She's going to bite off the tips of her fingers if she doesn't stop. "Mom, it's only five hours. I'll be fine."

"Well, make sure you pack water. Oh! And snacks." She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a few folded twenties. "And here's some extra money for gas. Oh, and if—"

"Mom!" I fold her fingers around the money. I'm not going to take half of what she made this summer for gas. "I'll be fine. I'll text you when I get to Portland, okay?"

She chews on her lip and for a minute I see myself in her. "Okay." She blows out a breath. "Tell Edward I say hi. Are you sure you wouldn't rather him come up here? You can have just as much fun—"

"Mom, I want to see where he's staying, and Esme, and meet Peter. I want to go to Portland." Just the thought of seeing Edward in five hours has my heart pounding. I want to scream with excitement. I'm glad my mom's anxieties aren't drowning out my anticipation.

She nods and crosses her arms tightly. "Okay, baby."

Charlie walks out to the car then and I'm glad for his presence. At least my mom will hold back a bit now, but I can't help but to notice Charlie looks a little anxious as well. He clears his throat, holds out his hand. "Here," he says gruffly.

I stare at the white envelope in his outstretched hand. "What is this?" If this is more money…

"Letter from Mr. Cullen."

I gawk and start to push the envelope I had started to take back to his hand. "He won't want—" I start, shaking my head quickly, but Charlie interrupts.

"He asked me personally to give this to Edward. Please, just give it to him, okay?"

He lets go of his end and I stare at the possibly damaging letter in my hand.

"And don't read it for yourself."

I roll my eyes and say, "I'm not going to," even though I'm definitely tempted, if only just to protect Edward but I know it's an invasion of privacy. What if he doesn't want me to know what is in the letter? I shake my head and shove the damned envelope into the bag over my shoulder. Maybe if I pretend it doesn't exist…it won't. "Okay, I have to go. I'll see you in a week."

"Call me every day!" my mom cries as I get into the driver's side. Charlie sends her a subtle warning. "Okay, okay," she amends. "Text me once in a while, just so I'll know you're okay?"

Exasperated, I nod quickly, if only just to appease her.

"Like that kid would let anything happen to her," Charlie grumbles and I catch him mid-eyeroll. I grin. "Have a good trip, Bells. Call us if you need anything, okay?"

I nod again. "Thanks. Love you both."

They both wave as I pull out of the driveway and I can already see Charlie consoling my mother as I drive down the street. It's like I'm moving off to college again.

I only stop once at rest stop outside of Portland when my bladder feels like it could very well explode. It's colder here than Forks. The air feels different, too. Less heavy. I take a breath and smile, pulling out my phone to let Edward—and then my mother—know how close I am.

Edward's waiting outside of the house when I park on the street. I barely even get the keys from the ignition when I push open the door, running up to him. He's already covered half the distance as I parked so it doesn't take very long before I'm in his arms, holding onto him like I haven't seen him in years.

He smells just how I remembered and feels even better. I tangle my fingers into his hair and, after we've finished kissing in his front yard, tell him that his hair has gotten longer. He laughs and holds me tighter.

"I missed you," he whispers into my ear.

"I can tell," I laugh. "I love you."

He pulls back and kisses me again. Slowly, passionately and I have to pull away before I get too lost in him.

I look at the house. It's small, but has a subtle beauty to it. It's well-kept with two floors and a wrap-around deck. I smile up at Edward because this is the first real house he's ever lived in; one that isn't attached to a working garage. The shrubbery and flowers in the front definitely have Esme's touch.

"It's beautiful," I say.

He smiles and kisses me. "You're beautiful," he retorts.

I grin back at him. "Give me a tour."

He grabs my hand and I follow him up the small walk and into the house. It's equally as nice inside. There's no reminiscence of his past house. The walls are covered in art; there's a fully stocked bookshelf by a fireplace. Even the rugs across the hardwoods look expensive and oriental.

"Where's your mom?" I ask, watching Edward as he pours me a glass of water.

"Her and Peter went out to the store." He rolls his eyes as he hands me the cup. "She's dead-set on making you a Portland dinner."

"What's a Portland dinner?" I ask.

He shrugs and I laugh. He's watching me carefully, like he can't believe I'm actually here and I can see the subtle glint to his bright green eyes. God, I've missed him. I put the glass down. "Show me your room."

He raises an eyebrow and I watch as his eyes dance. He smirks and then grabs me, lifting me so I can wrap my legs around his waist. We're kissing again before he even makes it out of the kitchen. When we pass the couch, I toss the bag I had been holding to the cushion.

The last glimpse I get as he carries me upstairs is the letter sticking out of my bag.


	101. Burning

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **An extra long chapter because I appreciate you all.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Peter is nice.

Like, really nice. He's one of those all-around good-guy dad types. The kind that annoys your friend, but you're secretly jealous of how interested their father is in their life. Charlie's great. So was my biological father, even though I barely remember him. But Peter is something else. He cares. Really, _actually_ cares about Esme and Edward.

"I've heard a lot about you, Bella," Peter says over dinner, a smile on his face. He is handsome and I'm happy for Esme, but I'm surprised he's heard anything about me. The way Edward had practically ignored him when he came home made me think he'd hardly ever spoken a word to him.

But then Esme smiles, embarrassed, and leans into Peter's side. From beside me, Edward stares down at his plate. I don't know if it's the idea of his mother being with another man, or the idea of his mother being a real mother that has him off kilter, but he's clearly not comfortable.

I smile and answer Peter, getting into a discussion about my job, about literature and editing and magazines. He tells me about his job. He's an emergency room doctor at the local hospital and he's lived here his entire life. He says he could never see himself leaving Portland and then he kisses Esme on the head and says he could never see himself leaving her, either.

I feel like one of her children. Like he's trying to prove to me, too, that he can take care of her.

I believe him, even if Edward and Emmett don't.

* * *

"I'll take your stuff to my room."

Edward grabs my suitcase after dinner. Esme moves to pick up the duffle bag that sits beside it, but Edward grabs that, too. I don't know if it's a show of independence or annoyance, but the way Esme relents without a word tells me he's like this with her a lot.

"Guest room, Edward," Peter states as Edward makes for the first step. He pauses and stares ahead. I can see his jaw click into place and I know he wants to argue. "I hope you understand, Bella," Peter adds. "I'm a bit more old-school than some may be."

"That's okay," I say with a smile. "I don't mind." I think to say that my mom would appreciate it, but I don't want to upset Edward any more than necessary.

Esme sends him a subtle warning, his name in a lowered voice and I can see he's going to say something and I'm sure it's going to be something he regrets, so I press my hand to his back and grab the strap of my duffle bag.

"Come on." I push him forward. "I'll take this one."

He looks at me out of the corner of his eyes and his jaw ticks once before he relaxes. He nods once and I know it's over. For now.

The guest room is just as nice as the rest of the house. A queen-sized bed and a fluffy white comforter. I wonder for a brief second whether Esme is helping Peter pay for anything, but immediately feel guilty for thinking that.

"Edward, it's okay—" I start as he puts the suitcase in the middle of the bed, but he stops me by placing his hands on either side of my face. His eyes have an emerald sheen to them and it's a look I know all too well. One of conflict; of disdain.

"He goes to bed early, anyways," he says and a slow smile spreads to his face. I know this look, too, and I can't help but to roll my eyes. I'm pretty sure the smile on my face cancels out any disagreement I'm trying to show. "You won't be in here alone for long." He kisses the spot beneath my ear.

I squirm away from him with a laugh.

"You don't like him," I say. It's not a question.

Edward sits on the edge of the bed. "He thinks he's my new dad or something."

I sit down too and take his hand in mine, playing with his long fingers. "He's just trying to give you a role model, I think. I mean, I'm sure your mom's told him about how your dad was with the two of you."

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess." He looks down at our hands and curls his fingers around mine. He smiles up at me and I can see the new man inside of him. He really is trying, and he's doing a great job. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"

I think for a second. "Can I see your school? And the baseball field?" I know he's started playing again for his school, though I'm sure it's just to give him something to do; somewhere to be besides here.

There's a knock on the door before he answers and he swears under his breath. Peter opens the door a crack and then, after glancing in, opens it a bit wider. "You know the door policy, Ed."

 _Ed_? I have to try not to laugh. The only person that ever called him Ed was Emmett, and that was when he was looking for a fight.

"Sorry," he mutters and Peter does his best to ignore Edward's hostile side. He smiles at me. "You up for some pie and wine?"

I laugh and I think it's mostly residual from hearing him call Edward, Ed. "Okay."

Esme asks a hundred questions about everyone from home, keeping a wide circle around one specific person, which is good because his letter is still burning a hole in my bag.

"He hasn't wanted to come down for a visit," she says about Emmett and Edward tips the rest of his beer back.

"He's been busy with work," I fill in. "He spends most of his weekends with Rosalie."

"I know," she says sadly. "I'm happy for him. I just wish he'd come to see me." Peter wraps an arm around her and she smiles sadly up at him. I don't want to say anything, because it's not my place, but I think it's good she isn't forcing him to see her.

"What's Rosalie like?" she asks when I don't say anything and Edward laughs, sputtering on his last mouthful. I roll my eyes. He got used to her the few weekends before he moved here. She was at Emmett's apartment most of the weekends he was still there.

"She's tough, but she's great for Emmett." I put down the empty wine glass I had unintentionally finished in my haste to quell the awkward tension that radiated through the room between Edward and Esme and Peter. "They really love each other, I think."

Esme smiles and nods. "I'm glad," she says quietly, but I can see it still bothers her that they haven't spoken since she showed up unexpectedly. And even then, I'm not sure the two of them did much talking.

Eventually Peter and Esme go upstairs and, like Edward had predicted, it's early in the night but he's already looking at me from where he sits on the couch, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. He's had too much to drink; I can tell by the light to his eyes. The wine isn't doing much for my inhibitions either so when he tells me that I'm too far away, I don't hesitate.

He kisses me and the idea that Esme and Peter are just upstairs is a thought in the far recesses of my mind. "I missed you," he breathes against my mouth. "All of you." He moves his fingers to the waist band of my jeans. "Everything about you." And then his fingers are beneath the fabric.

I gasp and then exhale against his throat, my mouth pressed to his jaw. I want to finish what we had started earlier in the night; what we hadn't been able to finish because Esme and Peter had returned too soon. "Your mom. And Peter," I manage to get out as his fingers work me over again.

He kisses me and then rests his forehead against me. "If you're quiet, they'll never know."

"What if I'm not?" I challenge and regret it immediately because he smirks and moves his fingers beneath my underwear. My moan is instantaneous and involuntary. It's been too long since I've had him, but he covers my mouth with his hand, his other hand freezing.

"Fuck," he breathes and stares, his eyes moving between mine and I'm hit with a sudden need to be close. Skin against skin. Breathing the same air. He seems to understand. "Give them fifteen minutes and we can go to my room, okay?"

I nod against his hand and he dips his head to kiss along my throat. His fingers reanimate and I moan in warning. He kisses me and then replaces his hand over my mouth.

"Doesn't mean I can't play in the meantime."

* * *

I wake in the middle of the night, wrapped in his arms. I want to stay, but I know I can't. I wouldn't want to upset Peter or Esme, so I quietly sneak from his bed to the door, pulling on one of his shirts as I go. I notice as I move that I'm sore in a way I haven't been for a couple of months. I smile to myself. It slips from my face almost instantly, though, when I spot my bag on his desk.

Before I can lose my nerve, I place the letter on the pillow beside his head. He needs to read it, and he needs to read it alone.

I kiss him softly and tiptoe to the room across the hall.


	102. Letter

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Another long(er) chapter. I'm getting towards the end, here. It's going to be sad for me to see them go.**

* * *

Edward's not up when I go downstairs in the morning and Esme seems a little concerned.

Quietly, I tell her about the letter. I regret it as soon as she moves for the staircase, her expression shocked. "What did it say?" she asks as she makes her way towards his room. I stop her before she can go in.

"I don't know," I admit. "But I don't know if we should go in. He might be processing, or sleeping." As much as I'd love to run in there and make sure he's okay, I know he will be. He just needs time to himself. It's how he copes with things like this. He does it alone.

But Esme shakes her head and opens the door, whispering, "I just want to make sure he's okay."

I let her, because I'm not his mother.

I can see him when she walks in. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed, his hair a mess. I know he's been pulling at it and I know even more that he wants to be alone. "Esme," I start, but the damage is already done.

He's glaring at her as she moves into the room.

"You read it?" he asks her, his voice like venom. I watch Esme flinch, but I don't know what to do.

"I didn't…" she starts, and then glances back at me. She's begging me with her eyes to do something; to say something.

I shake my head. "He gave it to Charlie," I tell him and his eyes snap to me. He looks like a cornered animal. This was exactly why I didn't want to come in here. You can't corner Edward. He would have come out when he was ready. We're forcing him, and I hate it.

"Come on—" I start to say, trying to redirect Esme, but she's moving towards him again. He recoils and I watch him reach down and grab his hat. He shoves it on his head, hiding his mess of bronze hair. I bite my lip.

"Edward," she's saying, coaxing, almost, but he jumps up and away from her, towards me.

"I need to go for a run," he tells me, and his words are careful, like he's afraid to say anything that will upset _me_. I want to tell him this wasn't my idea. I want to tell him that I tried to give the letter back, but I don't because I don't know what he wants to hear; what he needs to hear.

I nod and he starts for the door, moving around me.

"Edward," Esme calls after him. "Don't leave. We can talk about this. Peter and I can—"

I don't know if it's the mention of Peter or Esme's breaking voice or, again, the idea that she's suddenly trying to parent after nearly three years of nothing that breaks him, but he turns at the door, his hands fisting so tightly that I'm afraid he'll dislocate his knuckles.

"I don't need anything from you or _him_ ," he hisses, staring down his mother. His eyes are serpentine and I stand still, watching the image with a racing heart. "And I definitely don't fucking need anything from dad."

He turns before he leaves and grabs something from the trash bin by the door. It's the letter, crumbled into a ball.

"Here," he says, handing me the paper as he smooths it out. "I know you want to read it."

His tone is clipped, angry and I stare at the paper in his hand for an immeasurable amount of time. "I won't if you don't want me to," I finally say.

"Read it," he demands. It's not up to me anymore; he wants someone else to see it. I take the paper, keeping my eyes on him until he disappears down the hallway. As soon as he does, my eyes stray down. They catch the first word, written in a scratchy pen: _Son_.

I can feel Esme's eyes on me as I read, probably trying to gauge my reaction to each subsequent line, but I feel numb. There's nothing left _to_ feel, because Edward's said it all.

I look up at her once I've finished reading and hold out the letter. She shakes her head, a few tears glistening on her lashes. I refrain from rolling my eyes.

"What does it say?" she whispers, but I'm not about to read it word-for-word to her.

"That he's in AA," I say. "That when his entire family up and left him, it put things into perspective. That he wants Edward to call him if he wants to talk."

She doesn't say anything for which I'm glad, because there's still a part of me—a very large part—that holds a grudge because she didn't take them with her when she got out. She was selfish, even as a victim.

"Did he tell him he was sorry?" she asks, her voice breaking. I stare at her and for a moment I see the Esme that I knew; the mother that Edward and Emmett knew. The one that stands by and watches.

"No," I answer and she has the audacity to look angry. I stand up, putting the letter on Edward's desk so she can read it in private, like I know she will. "But, sometimes, a simple sorry doesn't cut it."

I turn and leave Esme alone in Edward's room.

* * *

Esme finds me in the kitchen before she has to leave for work and asks me if I think Edward would let her speak to him tonight. I tell her that I honestly don't know, and that's all I say. I don't encourage her to speak to him, because it's up to her to find the courage. I can't be the middle man for them. This is something she needs to sort out on her own, just her and Edward.

When Edward gets back, he's in a better mood. I don't know if it was the run alone, or the combination of Esme leaving and my not immediately wanting to talk about the letter.

"I'm sorry," he says, hesitating outside the door to the guest room, where I'm sitting in the middle of the bed. I shake my head and wave him in. He looks relieved.

"You did good," I say.

"She told me in therapy to run when I feel angry. When I feel like I want to hit someone."

He lays back onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge, his feet still grounded to the floor. He has a sheen of sweat across his forehead and his eyes are brilliantly green. I run my fingers through his hair, moving strands from his face. "Does it help?" I ask.

"Yeah," he sighs.

"Beth?"

He closes his eyes, relaxing more into the bed as my fingers smooth along his head. "Yeah."

I have a million questions about her; the therapist at the jail. Did she like him? How did he feel when she touched him? Did _he_ like _her_? As a therapist, or otherwise?

His eyes open and he stares at me, at my silence.

"Did she ever…why did you stop seeing her?" I finally ask.

He shrugs and then he gets this look to his eyes and I know he has an actual reason. I hold my breath, bracing myself. His voice is low when he answers. "I felt like I was in some sort of psych ward with her. Like I wasn't just _doing my time_. Everyone thought something was wrong with me and I started believing them."

I stay quiet, letting him get everything out.

"When the first month was up, they asked what of schedule I wanted to keep and I said I didn't want to do it anymore." He smiles and lets out a short laugh through his nose; a sound of disregard. "They said it would help, but all she ever wanted to do was talk about you and your boyfriend." He spits the word and I take up running my fingers through his hair again. He relaxes and closes his eyes. "She said we were toxic for each other. That if I really loved you, I'd let you go because it would be better for you. That you were happy now."

I'm sure he's keeping some of the conversations from me, like the ones where she would explain to him just how and why I was toxic to him. And I don't have a doubt that I _was_ toxic to him, just like he was toxic to me. But we're different now. We're growing. We're changing.

He looks up at me and his eyes take me in, in that way that makes me think he can see right through me. "I'm going to therapy here, now. At the school."

I'm shocked by this news, but I try to keep it hidden. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugs and then sits up, facing away from me. I study his back. Broad and lean in all the right places. I want to trace my hand over his spine.

"It's embarrassing, I guess. To be so fucked up that you need someone else to tell you how to live your life."

I do touch him now, because what he's saying is heartbreaking and not true. I move towards him on my knees, running my hand up his back. "You're not fucked up," I whisper. "And it's not embarrassing. God, Edward, when will you understand that it was your childhood that was fucked up. Not you."

"Emmett's fine," he counters after a second.

I move closer to him, leaning up on my knees so that we're eyelevel. "Emmett wasn't taking the brunt of the beatings," I remind him. He doesn't say anything. "And I'm sure he has his own shit to deal with." I motion towards the door, towards the house in general. Edward may not necessarily like Peter or agree with everything Esme has done, but he's a hell of a lot better at accepting it than Emmett is.

"Yeah," he grimaces and then turns an inch so that he can look at me. His eyes trail over my face. "I'm doing it for you. I have to get better for you."

I shake my head and grab his hand. "You have to get better for _you_ , Edward. And if you think you're going to run me off because of the way that you are, the way you grew up, you obviously don't understand what's been happening these past six months."

"You left me because of how I was," he says quietly, staring out our hands.

"Yeah," I agree. "How you _were_. You're not like that anymore. You're calmer. You know how to vent your anger." I motion towards his running shoes and then towards myself. "You trust me more."

His fingers tighten around mine. "I never distrusted you."

I sigh and lean forward to press my lips to his temple. "I love you for _you_. If this past half year wasn't enough proof of that…" I trail off, not needing to remind him about the jail visits, the therapy sessions, our reunion…

He stares at me for a moment before his expression softens. "I love you, too." He sighs and then drops back to the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I guess I should apologize to my mom."

"If you want," I say and move to hover over him. He grabs my hips, making me straddle his waist. "But she fucked up your childhood, too. Don't forget that. Being a bystander doesn't make her innocent." I stare down at him, hesitating. His fingers tighten against me, egging me on. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask. "The letter?"

He groans and throws a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes like just the thought alone gives him a headache. "He's in AA. Writing the letter is probably one of his steps." He looks up at me. "What more is there to say?"

I let it go because I don't want to push him, but now I'm wondering if he wrote a letter to Emmett, and if there's one coming for Esme.

"Thank you for not giving up on me," Edward whispers after a minute. "I'm sorry for what happened this morning."

I kiss him as my answer.

"Let's not waste our few hours alone," I suggest, changing the subject because I know he doesn't want to talk about this anymore. He seems to fully agree as he flips us over, pushing me into the mattress. I laugh when he pinches my sides, squirming away from him, but he catches my mouth with his before I can tell him to stop.

He lets me be as loud as I want this time.


	103. Strides

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **So sorry for the long break…again. I have a couple of chapters to post and then a few future chapters and then that's it. SO SAD. This story has been my life for the past few months and I know I'll jump into another one soon, but it's always a little heartbreaking to leave one.**

* * *

Esme waves me into the kitchen when I wake up in the morning by myself.

I follow her to the screen door that opens to the garage. She's grinning ear-to-ear. I look in, confused, until I see Edward and Peter. Together.

They're standing over Peter's truck, looking over the engine. I watch, surprised, as Edward bends down to lift some lever, glancing at Peter, and Peter nods in recognition.

I turn, raising my eyebrows, and Esme shrugs. "His truck wouldn't start this morning," she says. "Edward offered to take a look."

I watch her watching them for a while. She looks happy, but there's something behind her eyes. It reminds me of Edward, of hidden emotions and I know what it means the longer I stare. He still hasn't spoken to her and she doesn't know what to do.

I only smile when she looks at me, because I don't know either.

* * *

The week went by a lot faster than either of us wanted it to.

Edward took me around Portland. He showed me his school, the field where he plays, we even ran into a few of his teammates. They were nice and didn't seem too surprised to be introduced to me. I figured they were expecting me. It made me smile later on when we drove back to his house.

It took a few days, but he started warming up to Esme again. It was baby steps, but by my last day, he was rolling his eyes when she nagged him for finishing off the orange juice.

By the time I finish packing, he hasn't brought up the letter again.

"I'll be up in March," he reminds me as he pushes my suitcase into the trunk. I stand with my arms crossed, my expression and outlook solemn. I don't want to leave Portland. I don't want to go back to Washington without him. He looks me over when I don't answer. "Come here," he whispers.

I let him wrap his arms around me. "It's only two months," he says. "I'll be on break. I'll come home for the full week, okay?"

I nod and he kisses me softly. I ask, because I know he won't bring it up.

"Do you want me to say anything to…?" I don't have to finish the question; he knows who and what I'm referring to. His jaw tightens.

"I'm gonna talk to Emmett first," is all he says. I nod and kiss him again.

He doesn't let me go until I'm breathless.

* * *

Charlie and my mom are full of quiet curiosity when I get home, not about my visit—though my mother has asked me countless questions—but about the letter. I don't tell them much because I don't think it's my place but I'd be lying if I said I didn't check my phone a hundred times since I got home with hopes of finding a text from Edward or Emmett.

It doesn't come until two weeks later, and it's not in the form of a text, but Rosalie.

She shows up at my house how she shows up everywhere; like she's expecting to be expected. Her eyebrows are practically permanently raised as she watches me read over the letter Emmett received. It's similar in content to Edward's, though a bit more personalized. Emmett and Mr. Cullen had always been closer, if you can even say that.

"He's trying to make amends," Rosalie says, folding the letter back into its envelope.

I chew on the corner of my thumbnail. "Did Emmett read it yet?"

She stares at me incredulously. "Of course he did. He gave it to me to show to you."

"Does he know Edward got one?"

"Yeah. I think they compared notes or something." She snorts and I can tell this is kind of rolling off of her. I have to remind myself that she wasn't there when Emmett and Edward lived with their dad. She wasn't there when Esme lived with them, either. She doesn't know how bad it was, despite anything Emmett may have said to her.

I hadn't spoken to Edward about the letter since I was in Portland, but I'm sure his plan of action hasn't changed: ignore, ignore, ignore.

"What are they going to do?"

Rose shrugs and throws her head back against the couch. "Visit him, I guess."

"In March?"

She nods. I'm stunned. I want to call Edward and ask, but I don't want to press him.

When Rosalie leaves, I'm glad she stopped by. It's nice to be in the know so that I can be careful with the way I take information from Edward. I'm sure he didn't want to bring this up unnecessarily until he's here in March because he wouldn't want me stressing over it.

Like I'm doing right now and will be doing until the day comes.


	104. Clean

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

Edward's only been in Washington for two days of his Spring break before he's leaving for Emmett's apartment. They're going to visit their dad today and, despite my hesitation, I'm beginning to think it's a good idea.

Emmett's been talking more with Esme, so this seems like the natural next step. Carlisle was going to stop by the apartment, but they had both agreed they'd rather come to him. They'd have an easier escape that way; Edward would have an easier escape that way.

I know from Charlie that their dad has been doing better. He's given up the bottle for chips. The AA program is accountable by the sheriff's office and Charlie's been able to check in once in a while. It's anonymous, so he hasn't been able to tell us anything more than that.

When I tell Edward, he only forces a smile. I can tell he isn't holding any high standards for this reunion and I have a feeling he's only doing it to appease Emmett. He's still protective, despite being the younger brother.

"Please be careful," I say as we sit outside of Emmett's complex, my car idling the way my reluctance is. I wanted to come with them, but Edward was steadfast against that.

He glances at me as he unbuckles. I don't know what he sees on my face but it makes him sit back against the seat. "I promise you, everything will be fine. I'll have Emmett drop me off at your house when we're done, okay?"

I chew on my lip and nod. He leans towards me, so close that I can see the specks of yellow that hint against his pupils, and places his hand against my cheek. "Nothing's going to happen. And, if it does, I'm going to leave, okay?"

Again, I nod. It feels like the only response I'm capable of. He pulls me forward and kisses my forehead and then my lips. Emmett comes out of the complex and spots us. "I have to go," Edward says. "I'll text you when I'm leaving."

"I love you," I say. It's the only thing I can get out without crying.

He smiles. It's the first real smile I've seen from him since he got to Washington. He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "I know." He squeezes once, "I love, too," and then the door is closing behind him.

I sit in the parking lot for what feels like hours after they've driven away, but a glance at the dashboard tells me it's only been five minutes.

* * *

I'm lying on my bed in near darkness, staring at the ceiling when he opens the window and climbs inside. My heart restarts just as he's crawling in next to me. His hands are cold but his mouth is warm.

"You could have used the door," I whisper when he moves his mouth to my throat. I shiver and hold him tighter. He kisses me harder as his answer.

"Was it okay?" I ask after a few minutes. I've turned on the lamp beside my bed and I'm secretly tracing his features with my eyes for any hint of red that will become a bruise. He looks fine. He looks perfect.

His brow furrows and he looks away. "It was fine." I'm desperate for information, for details. I want to know everything. I want a fucking play-by-play but I know I'll never get that.

"Was he…nice?"

"I mean, as nice as he can be, I guess."

"Is he different?"

"He's sober." He smiles. It's small, but it's there. "He's cleaner than I've ever seen him. No grease stains on his shirt." He sighs and closes his eyes. He looks exhausted. I'm sure it's more mental than physical. "He's trying, I guess."

I study his profile for a few seconds, leaning on my side next to him. I try to rein in all the questions that threaten to spill from my tongue. My fingers tap distractedly against his chest. He opens his eyes and presses his hand over mine, stopping my fingers. They curl against his shirt regardless. "What?"

I want to yell _what do you mean, what?!_ but I bite my tongue. I know he's trying to take this all in stride and I know from what he told me earlier in the morning that he wasn't expecting much out of visiting his dad, but it feels like a major step to me. It feels like he should feel… _something_.

"I mean…" he's looking over my face and I just have to go for it, "how do you feel? Are you happy you saw him? Are you going to see him again? Do you think it'll last? Do you—" He kisses me to stop me which is probably good because I think I could have gone on for an hour at least.

"I'm happy I saw him." He kisses me again. "But I'm happier that I went with Emmett because I didn't want him going by himself."

"You wouldn't have gone if Emmett didn't?"

He shakes his head.

"And I don't know if it'll last. I don't ever remember a time when he went clean, so…I don't really have anything to compare this to."

I nod after a few seconds and decide to swallow the rest of my questions. I'm sure I'll get some from Rosalie later anyways. Emmett's bound to be more open than Edward. "I'm proud of you for going," I decide. "I didn't want you to at first, but I think, maybe, it's a good thing?"

He shrugs and moves closer to me and I know that's all we're going to talk about for the night. Besides, I can feel his warmth seeping through my thin shirt and it's very distracting, almost as much as what I can feel pressing against my thigh.

Despite the conversation I was just trying to continue, I hook my leg around his waist and smile. "How are you hard right now?"

He only grins and draws his hand down my back, stopping to press me tighter against him. My smile fades and I'm dangerously close to letting go of the moan I've been trying to swallow while he sucks lightly on my skin. His fingers toy with the hem of my sleep shorts. "Why wouldn't I be hard right now?"

I choke out a laugh and he's quick to drown out the sound as he pulls me on top of him.


	105. Lost

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

" _Okay, it's just a simple hearing. I'll ask a few questions—questions we've gone over before—and all we need is for you to answer them truthfully. Answer exactly the way you did yesterday, okay?"_

 _Mike staring at the side of my face is the only reason I gather up the strength to nod. It's court day, and I've agreed to be the key witness. Really, I'm the only witness besides Jake, but Mike's family lawyer has already assured Mike and his parents that the defense isn't planning on bringing any witnesses of their own. Jake won't be there._

 _I have a feeling I know why, and it eats away inside of me._

" _His lawyer might want to cross examine and, then again, he might not. It depends on how much he relies on_ you _being in_ their _favor."_

 _I can feel Mike's eyes again. He shakes his head. "She won't be." He's so overly confident and I guess, really, he should be. I'm_ his _girlfriend. I'm_ his _witness._

 _I think the lawyer notices my reservations. He places a hand on my shoulder. "Just stick to the truth and everything will work out in our favor."_

 _In Mike's favor, I think to myself. I turn to him. He's switched out his brace for a sling today. I don't know if it was his idea, or the lawyer, but it seems over the top for a broken wrist. "Can't we settle out of court?"_

 _He bristles. "I'm not risking getting harassed again, babe." He holds his arms out, stretching the sling. "He broke my wrist. Do you want it to be my arm next?" I swallow and shake my head. I hate the way this whole situation is making me feel. "Just answer exactly how we went over everything last night and we'll win."_

 _I wrap my arms around myself and glance around at the emptying courthouse. Mike's parents are waiting on a bench outside of the room. I don't know where anyone is for Edward. I don't even know if anyone came for Edward. That thought along makes me feel even worse so I try to shove it back._

 _Mike grabs my hand. His are warm; mine are clammy and cold. He's not even worried. "Baby, relax. I won't let him hurt you or me."_

" _He wouldn't hurt me," I answer without thinking, but the words shouldn't shock Mike. I've said these very words to him at least a hundred times over the past week, but his eyes widen a bit into this sad innocence._

" _I'd want to protect you," he says. "Don't you want to protect me?"_

 _He has me there. "Yes," I sigh._

 _The large door behind us opens before he can say anything else. His lawyer glances in and then comes back to us. He has a look of expectation on his face. "Okay, it's time." He motions us inside and I hold my breath. He speaks to me this time. "He'll be on the left with his lawyer. Don't even look his way. You don't want to give him more power than he already thinks he has."_

 _I follow him and Mike in, already having known I wasn't going to glance his way once if I could help it._

 _The proceeding is quick. It's mostly technical; back and forth between Mike's lawyer and Edward's lawyer. I do my best to keep to myself. I'm in the row behind Mike, head down, pretending I'm not here—until the questions are directed at Edward._

 _When I glance up, he's not beside his lawyer. He's beside the judge, fitted in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs. Something about the sight of him like this, like a criminal has me trying to practice steady breathing. It doesn't help that he won't take his eyes off of me._

 _He describes the night in his own words. Looking for me, finding the apartment, not knowing I was living with Mike until he got there. Finally he reaches the point of no return—the fight. A hand squeezes mine: my mom. I hadn't even seen her sit beside me, I was so absorbed in his words. The worst part is that he sounds proud almost…happy with the outcome of the fight. He's not repentant and I know I can't feel bad for him, no matter the sentencing._

 _He brought this on himself._

 _When it's my turn to take the stand, I'm more shaky than when I came in. I refuse to meet Edward's eyes, even though I can feel them boring through me._

" _Isabella, have you ever felt victimized by the defendant?" It's Mike's lawyer's first question and it's not a difficult one._

" _No."_

 _I can feel Mike staring at me, but they knew of this answer from the beginning._

" _Did you ever feel as though your life may have been in danger while around the defendant?"_

" _Not directly because of him, no." My answers are leeway's._

" _Clarify, please," his lawyer announces calmly. He's happy. The proceedings are going as planned._

 _I can see Mike nodding slowly out of the corner of my eye. I take a breath. "Edward has always had…anger issues. Since I've known him, he's always been in fights. He was always protective of me, defensive even."_

" _Do you believe he would have ever harmed you?"_

" _No."_

" _What about those around you? Do you believe he would have ever harmed those around you?"_

 _My eyes water because I know this is the defining question in the case. I answer with a quiet, "yes."_

 _It's over in a matter of twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to dissect an entire lifetime, it feels. Edward's lawyer doesn't call for any further examination and I'm dismissed back to my seat. Mike smiles at me as I step back, but I can't find it in me to reciprocate._

" _Do you have any final words for me before I make my judgement?" I glance up, thinking that the judge is talking to me, but she's speaking to Edward. I allow myself one last glance. He's not looking at me, but his jaw is tense. His eyes are riled._

" _I loved that girl," he says, his quiet voice feeling like a freight train in the silent courtroom. "I'll always love that girl and I'll always fight for that girl."_

 _The judge makes a note and then looks at me. I look down, not sure what emotions are expressing across my face because I can't pinpoint a single one flowing through my mind. There's too much; it's giving me a pounding headache._

" _Mr. Cullen." I flinch for him. "Based on your account of the night and your final words, I believe some time may do you good. I'm sentencing a maximum of five years with possible probation." My mom's hand returns to mine and squeezes. I can't stand to look at her right now. The judge looks over at Edward. "Perhaps some time away and a bit of psychotherapy will be able to help you." Her gavel hits the sound block. "Court adjourned."_

 _Time moves in slow motion._

 _I see Mike and his lawyer patting each other on the shoulder. A job well done. I see Mike's parents standing to accommodate their son. I see a tiny smile on my mom's face. I refuse to look towards the other side of the courtroom. I refuse to see the pain, sorrow, acceptance, insolence written across his face because I know it'll haunt my dreams for nights on end._

 _I do, however, catch a glimpse of Emmett, sitting near the aisle, his brow furrowed, his expression unreadable._

 _It's my undoing._

 _I stand quickly, needing…something. To leave, to run, to scream, I'm not sure._

 _A hand clamps down on my shoulder. I expect to find my mom in the beginnings of a celebratory hug, but instead come face-to-face with Charlie. His face is open; his eyes are cautious. He turns me towards him, towards the back doors._

" _Come on, kid." His voice is soft, like he's talking to a lost child. "Let's go."_


	106. Pages

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **There's only about three more chapters left in this story and I'm hoping to get them out either today or by tomorrow evening the latest.**

 **Thank you all so much for sticking with me through it all.**

* * *

"It's not a big deal."

I stare across the table at Edward. We're in Emmett's apartment with Rose and Em and we've been having this debate for the past half hour. I down some of my drink. "It really is a big deal."

"No," Emmett cuts in. "It's really not."

I roll my eyes at the two brothers who are, as always, on the same page. A different page from the rest of the world who have had at least one functioning parent. The alcohol in my hand is making me brave and I'm about to debate when Rosalie slams her bottle down. "How can you say that? You visit your suddenly sober father after not being in contact with him for two years and it's not a big deal? We want to know what happened!"

I can't blame her comment on alcohol; this is her natural personality.

We've all had a bit too much to drink. Emmett's apartment has turned into a no-tongues-held sort of zone for the week Edward has been here. Really, I think it's Emmett's own fault. He's the one supplying the alcohol.

I down the rest of my drink. It was a sunrise until Rose decided I needed a bit less orange juice and a bit more tequila. Edward's smiling at me. It's that smile where he's trying not to smile but he's too drunk to stay serious. "I just want to know what happened," I relent.

He rolls his eyes. "I already told you."

I scoff. "You told me it was fine and that he didn't have any grease stains on his shirt."

Emmett laughs and opens another beer. "Yeah, man. He was surprisingly clean. Smelled pretty good in there, too."

Rosalie tips her beer towards me. "He fed them."

I stare, wide-eyed at Edward. Well, it takes a second for my eyes to focus. I put down the glass. I think I've had enough for a while. "You didn't tell me that. Did he cook for you?"

He snorts. "Take out."

"I don't think he's picked up cooking just yet," Emmett laughs.

Rose pushes against his shoulder. "You're one to talk."

He pulls her closer. "I didn't hear you complaining last night."

"Well that's because you put me in a good mood before dinner."

"Ew." I stand quickly and grab the bottle from her. She's clearly had plenty and neither Edward nor I want to hear about any of this. "Okay, that's enough."

Edward laughs and it's good to hear. He's been in better spirits since I visited him in Portland and I don't want to bring things up unnecessarily, but the curiosity is eating away at me. "Can you at least tell me what he said?"

"Jeez, Bells, you should have just come with us if you were that concerned," Emmett says but I know he's just putting up a front. He wouldn't let Rosalie go as much as Edward wouldn't let me go.

Edward sighs and reaches over to wrap his arm around my waist. I stand next to his chair and he looks up at me with his emerald eyes. They're slightly blood shot, but not bogged down. "He said that he knows he can't make up for being a shitty parent for the first twenty years of our lives but that he'd like to start trying."

I stare, wide-eyed. "What does that mean?"

He shrugs and that's my answer. I know that's as much as I'll get out of him right now.

Emmett gets up to toss the empty bottles on the table into the recycle. "Who knows," he says. "Who knows if he'll even stay sober."

It's a somber end to a relaxing evening and I feel bad for bringing anything up, but later that night, lying in Edward's bed in the room Emmett's saved for him, Edward shifts behind me. I'm halfway asleep, in between that stage of wakefulness and uncertainty when he kisses my ear. "He asked about you."

That's enough to pull me back to consciousness.

I turn around to look at him over my shoulder. I can only see the outline of his profile in the light from the alarm beside the bed, but I can tell he's looking at me. "He did?"

"He always liked you," he pauses and the sound of a motorcycle accelerating down the highway takes over the quiet. "When you broke up with me, he told me it was about time you came to your senses."

I move to lean back on my elbows and look down at him.

He smiles a little. "I punched him in the face"

I gasp and say his name because it was things exactly like that that I had always been terrified of in high school, especially after his mom left. His dad is—was—dangerous and I had never put it past him to hit back harder and faster.

"And he told me that's exactly why you left," he continues as though I wasn't fazed at all, "Told me if I didn't straighten myself up, I'd turn into him." I manage a small sound of surprise. Edward fingers the hem of the shirt I'm wearing. It's his. "He was self-aware, Bella. He's just…diseased, I guess. At least, that's what all my therapists have tried telling me."

We both watch his fingers as they disappear beneath the fabric, smoothing along the skin just above my hip. We're too distracted by his words to appreciate the movement.

"You would never turn into him," I say quietly.

"I think I came close," he whispers. "That night I showed up at your school? I was fucking wasted, Bella. I couldn't even think straight. All I cared about was fucking up whoever thought they could take you from me. But you're not an object. You're not something that can be taken from me. You don't belong to me."

I start to object, to say that I _do_ belong to him; that he has all of me, but he shakes his head.

"In _that_ sense." He sighs. "Knowing that…I know I'll never become like my dad. He saw everything and everyone as an object to be played with as he pleased. My mom was nothing but a girl he knocked up. He owned her. He owned us. At least, he thought he did. He looks up at me and I know his eyes are glistening. "I don't own you. I never had a right to fight for you like that. It was your decision to move on and I should have respected that and I didn't, and I'm sorry."

As he's speaking, he's moving up on his elbow and reaching for my face. He pulls me down to him and kisses me. When he pulls away, my face is wet.

"Don't cry," he whispers and nudges his nose against mine.

"I just wish we could erase those two years," I say and I can feel the sentiment in my heart, in my blood, in my very bones. I want for the last two years of school to have never happened. I wish I had never ended things with him; I wish I had trusted my instincts.

Edward's shaking his head and sitting up even more, the sheet giving way to his bare chest. He holds my face and kisses me once, carefully. "No, it's good they happened. I was a rough kid, Bella. I grew up defensive and distrustful and thinking everyone was against me. And then when you showed up…God, you were like an angel. You trusted _me_ and you protected _me_ and you believed in _me_." He let's his hands wander and I'm caught between need and heartache. "With this face and this hair and these legs and this body." He shifts his hands from my bare skin to cover my heart over my shirt. "And this mind and this heart and these fucking perfect eyes that could see right through my bullshit. I've said it before and I'll say it again—you leaving was the best thing for us."

I don't know if I can fully agree with him, but he does a good job of trying to convince me as he kisses his way from my lips to my jaw to my throat, and when he uses his knee to spread both of mine, I fall into him like I always do. And when he connects us and moves over me, I hold on as tightly as I can because I want him to feel me in his every pore as I can feel him in each one of mine.

The words that he whispers to me and the ones that I reciprocate with tell each other what we've always known, even if it was hard to believe at times: that I love him, and he loves me. That there is only me, and there is only him, in the world. That if the past three years have shown us anything, it's that we'll stick by each other through thick and thin.


	107. Hammock

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Just a quick throwback to happier days (I guess?). I just wanted a quick chapter before this was over to show not everything in their last year together was terrible. This is pre-break up, post-first year of college.**

* * *

 _ **Summer**_

 _It's one of those kinds of days where nothing bad happens, but nothing exceptionally good happens, either._

 _I haven't fought with my mother all day, Charlie hasn't been hovering around trying to find out what's going on with the teenagers through the summer, Alice hasn't been sending me dirty looks—actually, I haven't seen her at all, Edward and I have been getting along fine, and Edward's father hasn't been completely chaotic._

 _It's just a day, but it's a good day. The kind where there's no expectation, so anything that happens is okay. Good, even._

 _It's the middle of July, our first summer after freshman year of college, and the air is slick with humidity. The rope of the hammock Edward set up between the two trees in his front yard cuts into my skin, but I don't really care about that right now. I'm too tranquil, too close to sleep._

 _I can feel Edward's fingers thrumming past my ankle bone and back up to my calf, working the muscle gently. He feels like a cool breeze and if it wasn't for the dead air, I would fall asleep. His fingers creep up and back down, over and over. It's calming._

 _I open my eyes and look across the hammock at him, but he's looking out over the yard towards the busying street. I can hear children laughing and shouting, playing in sprinklers; soft music coming from cars; bicycles, motorcycles, rollerblades, but I don't look over at any of that._

 _I watch him instead, studying the sharp angle to his jaw, the straight line of his nose, the tanned skin of his chest, abdomen, and arms, more muscular now with the work in his dad's shop over the summer. His hair is getting long again, curling just over his ears and hanging haphazardly in his eyes._

 _And his eyes._

 _They shift to me when he feels my gaze on him. The emerald is luminescent in the setting sun, golden almost in technicolor hues. He smiles and his face is even more perfect, more symmetrical if that's possible. The Cullens have some good genes._

 _He squeezes my foot. "What are you thinking about?"_

 _I laugh and stretch my arms over my head, tangling my fingers into the rope. The hammock sways gently. I don't think he'd like the rundown of exactly how beautiful he is, so I shrug and close my eyes again, a smile playing at my lips. "Why don't you take a guess?"_

 _I think he tries to rearrange himself to move closer to me because the hammock sways out of balance. My eyes snap open as it twists and we both fall out, laughing as we land on the grass below._

" _Shit," he laughs, but stays on his back in the grass, one hand resting across his stomach. He peers over at me with one eye, the sun blinding, and tugs at my hair. It's getting long too. "Wanna get some food?"_

 _We've been lying out for hours it feels like and at the mere mention of food, my stomach growls. His smile widens and he stands up. I stay where I am. "You have to help me up," I say. "My bones are like jelly."_

 _He laughs and reaches down to grab my arm. He pulls me upright effortlessly and holds me against him. He's already hard. It reminds me just how easy it was for him to pull down the strapless sun dress that I'm wearing. I push against his chest with a smirk and press myself off of him._

" _Food first," I tease and start quickly towards his car, laughing as he jogs after me._

 _I know we're heading to the small seafood stand down by the dock because it's the only place that is close by and will serve anyone in any sort of clothing. He drives with his left and holds my hand with his right, pressing a kiss to my knuckles, glancing out over the water side every once in a while._

 _I smile to myself, watching him and thinking how, despite everything we've been through, I'm lucky to have him._


	108. Five Years

**I do not own Twilight.**

* * *

 **Five Years Later**

"Honey, are you sure you want to do this?"

I tried my hardest not to roll my eyes at my mom. I really did, but sometimes it's just impossible.

She opened a box with a knife, pulling out plate after plate, placing them on the counter. "I mean, you want to be this far away? From me? From Charlie? From your _home_ —?"

"Mom," I cut her off, holding up a hand, "Forks is _your_ home. I haven't lived at home in six years. You know why we're out here. Edward was offered a job in San Francisco—a _good_ job—and I've always wanted to live in California. You know that."

"Owning a house is a lot of responsibility. I know you and Edward were fine out in Seattle for the past few years, but you were both so _close_. This is a fifteen-hour drive now!" She drops the empty cardboard box onto the floor, folding together the newspaper the plates were cushioned in. "And in your condition!" She shakes her head as though offended by the idea. "No, no. You'll have to come back to Washington, Bella. Edward will understand."

I couldn't help but to laugh until she began tearing up. And I thought _I_ was the hormonal one. I put a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her. "Edward is my _husband_ , mom. I'm sure he's not going to understand my moving back to Washington because my mother is afraid to be far from the baby." I pause, moving to grab a tissue as her tears become heavier. Now I roll my eyes. "And I'm only two months pregnant. The baby isn't coming anytime soon."

Charlie steps around the front door, leading himself to the kitchen where I stand with my mom, trying to keep her from falling apart. He's carrying a few drawers from the bureau and sends me a look when he sees his wife, dabbing her eyes. "What now?" he grumbles.

"She wants me to move back home," I say.

His mustache twitches and I think he's stuck between amusement and annoyance. "Hon, we'll be here all week to help them settle in and then we'll be back when the baby's born. I'm sure they can handle themselves until then."

"But what if something happens?" my mother hiccups, stretching her hand out towards me. "What if something happens to the baby and I'm not here to help?"

I barely keep myself from blocking my ears but I can already see the panicked look on Edward's face as he comes out from the back room. He had been setting up the bed and he must have heard the commotion. His eyes swing from me, to my mom, and back. "What happened?" he asks, reaching me in two strides. His hand goes to my stomach. "The baby?"

I pull in a breath, trying my hardest to calm myself and _not_ shout at my mother, but Charlie saves me and steers her away quietly, muttering something about finding the rest of the dishes in the truck. She lets out another sob on her way to the driveway.

I look up at Edward and he's watching me worriedly. Again, I roll my eyes. I already have to deal with him thinking something terrible is going to happen every second, and I'm barely even showing. The stairs, the car, the street, work, shopping, food—anything and everything is dangerous in his eyes right now. I push his hand away and then feel bad and wrap myself around him. "Nothing happened," I promise him. "My mom is just worried we're so far away."

"Should she be?" he asks. "We can go back to Seattle, if you want. Hell, we can go back to Forks."

I squeeze him tighter and bite my lip to keep from laughing. "And what? Lose all of the money we just put down on this place?" I look up at him, resting my chin on his chest. "Edward, we're going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine. Besides, your mom is only eight hours away. I like it here. I like this house. I like that we're in a different state. We can start with a clean slate, you know?"

He mumbles something, but his hand runs down my spine so I know the worst is over. For now. I grin up at him. "Is the bed finished?"

"Not yet. I still have to put up the headboard. Charlie's gonna help me pull in the mattress. Why, are you tired? Do you need to rest? The couch is in the living room—" I kiss him to shut him up. I can still hear my parents outside, so I know I don't have to be so chaste. It seems to distract him.

"I'm not tired," I whisper against his mouth, "but we need to have as much sex as we can before I get too fat to move."

His fingers move into my hair and he tilts my head back, kissing me harder. When he pulls away, we're both breathless.

"That's a pleasant thought," he says with a smirk, "As long as I can still spread your legs, I think we'll be okay." I laugh and he kisses me again until Charlie reappears with a gruff throat clearing. Edward pulls away but I hook an arm around his waist. You'd think after two years of marriage, Charlie would be okay with seeing a little PDA but I guess some things never change.

"Okay, let's finish with these last boxes, Ed. I gotta get Renée out of here before she has a panic attack."

Edward nods and follows Charlie out and I snort at his continued use of a nickname Edward has never liked.

I yelled at Charlie once, a couple of years back, for constantly calling him 'Ed', but Edward assured me that it was better than any nickname his own father had ever called him and that shut me up quickly. Besides, he doesn't seem to mind it coming from Charlie. Sometimes I think they have a better understanding of each other than I've ever had of either of my parents.

Speaking of his father, as we're lying naked in the bed, sheets that my mother had so carefully put on thrown to the ground, I glance surreptitiously up at Edward. He hasn't fallen asleep, but he's awful quiet.

I pull my head from his chest and rest on my elbow, staring down at him until he looks at me. "What?" he asks and I can tell by his tone that he knows I'm think something other than time for round two. Being pregnant has really sent me into overdrive.

"Have you given any more thought to letting your dad visit in the hospital?"

He frowns and rubs a hand over his face. I know it's still seven months away, but I'm curious. His relationship with his father has been rocky, at best. He hasn't picked up another beer in seven years, but Edward still seems skeptical. He had at least allowed him to visit us on a few occasions when we were living in Seattle. They tip toe around each other. It's like they're trying to mend their relationship silently.

"I don't know, Bella." He sits up and reaches for his boxers. I watch as he puts them on, concentrating on the movement of his toned back and I want him again. I crawl to him and wrap my arms around his shoulders, pressing my lips to his neck.

"We don't have to talk about it."

He shakes his head. "I don't mind him being there, but my mom will be there with Peter and they haven't seen each other in over a decade."

"The wedding…" I start, but he gives me a look and I know what it means. They hadn't interacted once at the wedding. They were all but strangers to each other.

"The birth is about you and the baby and me. I don't want to be keeping an eye on my dad and my mom and Emmett and Rosalie and making sure my dad isn't sneaking something in, and making sure my mom isn't watching him out of the corner of her eye, and making sure Emmett is okay with Peter being around…" he trails off and takes a breath, turning to pull me onto his lap. "I'm already worried enough about repeating the mistakes of my father. I don't want to be battling them the second the baby is born."

He stares at my stomach as though he can see his child perfectly and I love the adoration and worry on his face because it matches mine.

I pull his face to me and kiss him. "Listen to me. I have just as many concerns as you do, but I've never, not even once, contemplated whether you will turn out like your father. You know what you don't want to become and I know you'll be so attuned to how you're acting around this baby that there's no way even a _piece_ of your father will slip out." His eyes move between mine and I can see the defeat there clearly. "I. Won't. Let. It. Happen."

He nods and closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against mine. "I love you," he whispers.

I pick up his hand, tapping the ring on his finger as he's done to me so many times and repeat the words he's said to me even more times than I can count. "That's what this means, right?" He smiles and kisses me. I lock my arms around his neck. "Does putting on your boxers mean we can't go again?"

I laugh as he pushes me back to the bed, covering my body with his.


	109. Ten Minutes

**I do not own Twilight.**

 **Alas, we come to the end. I just want to say a big thanks to everyone who has followed this story to the end. I'm truly grateful for all of your comments and follows and alerts. If it wasn't for you guys, I wouldn't have given up on this story eons ago. I mean, a hundred chapters?! What was I thinking?!**

* * *

It's true what they say about the second child.

For the first one, I was always on everyone who was around him to watch his head, to wash their hands before and after, to be careful with the words they use around him, to not put him into the carriage until they've disinfected it. I think my mom got annoyed, but she was good at keeping her mouth shut.

Little Mason was such a good baby. He slept through the night nearly every night, he fed when he was supposed to, he hardly ever cried, he loved everyone—he _loved_ Alice—and he never put up a fuss when his brother came two years later.

Ethan was like an evil twin to Mason.

He hardly ever slept; he was colicky. He didn't let anyone hold him other than Edward and I. He wouldn't stay on the floor or in the basinet or on the changing table for _anything_ and when he began crawling, he was constantly putting anything and everything in his mouth.

Edward took it a lot better than I did. He was patient with them—with _him_. He took things from him and replaced it with a toy. He coddled him when he cried, he stayed up with him when he wouldn't sleep.

I, on the other hand, thought I was going to go crazy.

And I think I did, because shortly after that, Brianne came along.

My mom and Rosalie were through the roof. Rosalie had had twin boys; enormous, like Emmett, and immediately made Emmett get a vasectomy. She had her little girl vicariously through me and, by the time the third child came around, I was willing to pass her off to anyone and everyone who wanted a chance to hold her or play with her or babysit her.

Edward's dad was the best with her. She was so enraptured by him and everything he did. His voice, his face, his movements. I thought it was because he so closely resembled her father, but there was something about her grandfather that she couldn't get enough of. Edward wasn't all too happy, but it loosened them up to each other during her first year when his dad was able to calm her after a particularly long tantrum.

I loved it. I thought it was the best thing ever and had even talked to Edward about asking his dad to move his shop down to California, but quickly dismissed that idea when Edward about had a panic attack.

Luckily we were alone.

Jasper had signed with a team in Sacramento and while he traveled, Alice stayed in California. She was like my roommate, almost, during the first year of Brianne's life. Jasper was away most of the time and she was at our house morning and night.

Edward liked it at first until she started getting on his nerves as Alice loves to do.

A rule went up: Alice was allowed three times a week, only during sunlight hours.

I think I laughed for an hour straight when he told me this. Not that I didn't want her around, but Alice was _bored_ without Jasper, and that boredom turned into attaching herself to our family as though she was a second wife.

My mom visited as often as she could and for as long as she could—which capped off at about three days in a row before I sent her to a hotel for a day or two.

Esme and my mom had somehow banded together, so they got any information either of them wanted when one of them was here, and one of them was home. It put me into a twist of anxiety until one day I exploded on Edward as soon as he walked through the front door.

It was a weekend and my mom and Charlie were visiting. They had taken all three kids to the park and I don't know what had come over me. It was a mix of stress at work and stress with the kids and their schools and sleepless nights and worrying about Edward's dad and Esme and Peter and my mom and Charlie and constantly making sure that Edward was okay whenever his dad was around, that had me practically tumbling over the dining room chairs as I screamed at him about forgetting to buy more Cheerios.

 _Cheerios._

But he was a good husband and let me yell until I cried and pushed him away when he tried to hug me. He went to the corner store and bought three boxes of Cheerios and then came home and took me upstairs and let me fuck him until every last particle of energy was drained out of me.

Two hours later I couldn't stop laughing when he told me the reason he hadn't originally bought the Cheerios was because the store had been wiped out.

I tried to apologize, but I think I was laughing too hard and I don't think he understood a word I was saying and by the time my parents came back with the kids we were as happy as could be. My mom looked a little concerned when I choked back a laugh when Ethan asked for a bowl of "O's".

I slept better that night than I had in six years.

I thanked and apologized to Edward by waking him up with my mouth wrapped around him.

He didn't get to finish because a few minutes later there was a tiny knock on the door followed by a, "Mommy?" and "Daddy?", which was Mason's way of subtly telling us he had wet the bed. Again.

I leaned forward to kiss Edward and he held me there for a second, pressing his tongue inside of my mouth. I laughed and pulled away.

"Go back to sleep," I whispered as I moved off of the bed to tend to Mason. "I'll wake you up again in ten minutes."

He laughed when I smirked and fell back to the pillows.

"God, I love you," I heard him say as I shut the door behind me and looked down into Edward's emerald eyes on our six-year-old son.

XX

* * *

 **Again, thank you all so much.**

 **It's with tears that I say goodbye to all of you and this story.**

 **It's been a journey, but it's been worth it to give you all a story you enjoyed…hopefully.**


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